In the spirit of Stuff On My Cat, I present Stuff On My Baby. Which I cannot believe doesn’t already exist as a website instead of just a parked domain name. Stuff On My Baby will be priceless! Babies are always covered in stuff, plus the really little ones are totally helpless against having stuff put on them. I mean, not that I would put stuff on a helpless sleeping infant. That would be bad parenting, especially if I then put pictures of that stuff on the internet. Nope, I would never ever do something like that. And not just because my baby is now too old for those kind of shenanigans and I have to settle for tricking him into funny pictures while he’s awake.

Yarn on my baby

A colander on my baby

A red (but not riding) hood on my baby

I apologize for the lack of consistent posts the past week and apologize in advance for the lack of posts in the coming week. The holidays have been making me crazy and draining all the creativity and humor right out of my brain. I’m also sort of shell shocked by the fact that 2010 is just days away and my baby is almost 9 months old. I think once all that sinks in I’m going to have a freak out of major proportions, which I will happily share with you because it’s bound to bring the LOLs.

So for the past couple of weeks the number of spam comments caught by my filter has tripled. I don’t know if that means my site has finally hit Google’s search results or if the spambot companies are just working hard to sell those fake watch penis enlargement insurance porn college degrees during the holiday season. I mean, what makes better gift than some Ciagra and a Rolaxx?

Luckily, one of my delicious spammy commenters has a sense of humor and along with the links to his virus-filled site he provides me with at least two jokes a day. Unluckily, they are terribly unfunny. For example:

Did you hear about the farmer who was found guilty of selling rotten fruit? He was judged by his pears!

Which of these things don’t belong: A tuna, a lobster, or a Chinese guy run over by a truck? The tuna. The other two are crustaceans. (I don’t even get it. Is it racist? Is it supposed to sound like crust-Asians? Because that doesn’t even make any sense.) (Oh wait, I just got it. Crushed Asian. Yeah, still not funny.)

Then of course I have the list-maker spammer. Here’s just a sampling of the keywords he thinks you might be interested in:

windows firewall disable
what is govenor minner political
where to get dc tax forms
voltage level converter
wrongful l termanation sample
west marine port supply
wcho seed
yiffy adult art
wet tshirt ordinance
will hardy is so cool
vista notepad
what is microsoft’s email address
whitmor shrink tubing
why buy a condo
yakima walmart
western cable
wire totes
women with other women
watering vegetables
who plays claire bennet in heros
yale university online mba degree
wackenhut services inc
zix free
welcome to eminence organics
witney castle
worm poo
west virginia government and legal research
wicker towel ring towel rack

So many questions! Who is Will Hardy? Why does he need a voltage level converter? Will he buy a condo? Does it have a wicker towel ring towel rack? And for the love of God, what’s a Wackenhut???

And finally, this short and cryptic message:

eyelashes super

If only I knew what that meant. Maybe it’s an anagram, let’s see what our options are…

A Eyeless Pusher
Release Hypes Us
Healer Eyes Puss
Leashes Prey Sue
Reshape Lyes Use
Pleasures He Yes
Asleep Ere Hussy
Please Usher Yes
Ashes Spree Yule
Rashes Eye Pules

Oh dear, none of that sounds good at all. Perhaps it’s time to quietly delete all my spam and back away slowly. Nothing to see here, eyelashes super, nothing to see here.

You know that blond joke where the blond goes to the doctor and says “Doctor it hurts when I do this (pokes finger on leg) and when I do this (pokes finger on face) and this (pokes finger on arm)” and the doctor says “That’s because you’re finger is broken”?

Last night I made 44-clove garlic soup, from Smitten Kitchen and today I can’t escape the smell of garlic.* It seems like the bedroom smells and the bathroom smells and the kitchen smells and the couch smells and, jeez, just everywhere I go smells like garlic! How long do you think it took before this blond figured out her finger was broken?

Apparently, the smell/taste(?) of garlic is not only coming off my skin but has made it into my breastmilk and Baby Evan LOVES IT. So despite his sharp, pointy teeth and super pale skin I guess we’ve ruled out any possibility he’s a vampire (unless he’s one of those stupid, wimpy Twilight vampires who aren’t allergic to garlic and spend all their time sparkling and stalking women). He nursed ALL NIGHT and then four more times before 11 am and made “ah-ah-ah-ah-ah” noises every time I tried to detach him for a minute. I’m hoping this is just temporary. No one’s ever smelled like garlic FOREVER, right? Maybe if I start mixing garlic into his baby food I’ll have more success with the solids. What do you think we should start with, mango-pear & garlic or apple-banana & garlic?

*For the record, it was totally worth it. Oh em gee is that soup delicious and creamy and so so easy, even with my ridiculously cheap leaky blender.

Last night while I was making dinner the inevitable happened and I cut myself with a big serrated knife. I’m honestly surprised it hadn’t happened sooner, during those first couple of hazy, sleep deprived months when I was so exhausted I couldn’t remember my own name and had no business opening a can of soup let alone using the stove and the oven and sharp objects. But last night, despite being fairly well rested and getting 99% of the meal done without incident, I sliced open my finger while cutting the hamburger rolls. (Seriously, how stupid is that? They sell pre-cut rolls, right next to the non-cut ones and if I hadn’t insisted on buying the fancy onion kind I would have saved myself $2.00 and quite a bit of pain.)

After standing in the kitchen and yelling for a few minutes I ended up lying on the floor taking deep breaths to keep myself from passing out and hitting my head. I don’t react well to blood when it’s my own (something that runs in our family – Hi Dad!) and although the cut certainly didn’t need stitches if I fainted and hit the counter or the floor I could easily end up in the ER.

So I moaned and whimpered and E ran to get me a band-aid and came back with the hydrogen peroxide because I needed to “clean out the wound”.

Me: NO WAY IN HELL AM I POURING PEROXIDE ON ANYTHING,
E: Yes. You have to wash it out.
Me: NO NO NO NO NO NO NO STAY AWAAAAAAAAAY.
E: You know, you’re kind of a wuss about pain.
Me: You can’t call me a wuss, you threw a fit because you stubbed your toe last week. And…and…AND…
E: Oh I knew this was coming.
Me: AND. I GAVE BIRTH. You cannot call someone who has given birth a wuss. EVER.
E: You had to go and pull the birth card didn’t you?
Me: The birth card never expires. It’s good FOREVER. And don’t you forget it.

…we go to Target. And also to Chili’s.

Check out my adorable pumpkin hat. My parents bought it for me.

Haha! Just kidding! They're way too cheap to buy me stuff. They just took pictures of me in the store.

Oh hey Mom, those boots are pretty stylin'

But those boots over there are way cooler! I would throw up on them any day!

Cutest thing ever, we are. Going back to buy this doll for sure, my mom is.

Waitress! Bring me more coasters to chew on!

P.S. We went back and bought Yoda today. Expect to see a lot more of him in future pictures.