September 1, 2018

so help me, if one more person makes the labor day joke

The Kid was born at 6:03 a.m. on Labor Day, fifteen years ago.  He was three weeks early; six hours earlier and he would have ended up a preemie in the hospital NICU for observation, which would have sent me into paroxysms of hair-rending grief and hysterics, since it was the same hospital where I gave birth to my first son and two minutes after he was born, we realized his cardiovascular plumbing was internally croggled and he was more or less doomed.

But no, The Kid was born right at nine pounds - and, I might add, naturally and without the benefit of the epidural they administered an hour beforehand that slipped out as soon as the anesthesiologist left.  He was born in one push because I felt him crown and I think I actually said, "Oh, hell no, catch," in my altered state of agony (wherein I had been chewing on the bed rail), and I gave birth.

("Huh huh," so many people have said, "get it?  You were in labor and it was on Labor Day!"  It isn't good for my homicidal inclinations when this coincidence is pointed out.  No.  Not good at all.)

Today, fifteen years later, the now-rather-elongated bowling ball sat across from me at a Jersey's Mike's downing a full-size club sub, chips, a drink, and a cookie, while I nibbled a kid-sized turkey sandwich and sipped water.  He was wearing pajama pants and didn't give a shit, because he had declared it a laid-back birthday.  And it was laid-back.  We were hanging out.  Just that.

Then we ducked into the pet supply store one slot over in the strip mall.  Molly has been trying to sleep on top of my feet and this is having what one might call a negative effect on the amount of sleep I've been getting and, thus, on every other aspect of my life, so P.J. and I thought of trying a small, soft bed placed at the foot of the bed, in the middle, so she can be trained to sleep there instead. 

This is what we saw when we walked in, on a refrigerator-style cooler beside the bearded dragon display:

It was at this point that I reverted to my teens and we both started finding everything funny.  Everything.  Even the dog beds.  But somehow we got through it and after grabbing an appropriate brown, fuzzy bed, we headed up the toy aisle on the way to the register and then stopped dead in our tracks, frozen and wide-eyed, because next to the squeaky toys were the Kongs. 

Kong is now making binkies as well as their traditional cone-shaped chew toys, the binkies being designed for teething puppies.  There's ... a problem ... with this concept, though, which I will let you work out for yourself, but I will follow what you say out loud with this:  Why in the name of seventeen saints did they, beside the pink and blue and black ones, make one flesh-colored?

The picture depicting the insertion of a treat makes it even more interesting. 

And, I might ask, how did The Kid know to point out that the humor was increased because there's a pinkish ring of inflammation at what would be the base?  This points to an in-depth knowledge of butt plugs and I do not wish to contemplate how he has already come by it.

It has, obviously, been a busy fifteen years.

And obviously, we had to own this, so we bought it.

Hanging out, laughing at everything in the pet store, wondering what we could do with a frozen, individually-wrapped rat.  Just hanging out.  I will likely remember his fifteenth birthday more clearly than he will. 

Tonight will be movie night, with Infinity War and Good Will Hunting back-to-back, continued pajama-wearing, hot cocoa.  Hanging out.  

1 comment:

  1. Happy birthday to your son! It's such an incredible experience to watch our kids grow up. Good laughs, hanging out time -- it's the best! Your son sounds amazing!