Swaddle Pig

29 Nov

They say practice makes perfect. Unpacking the stupendously-named ‘miracle blanket’, I had to take a minute to try it out. Eliza was our only appropriately-sized victim:

I’m pretty sure I’m going to fuck this up once the baby comes, but whatever.

And today, the super showed up to measure our windows for safety something-or-other, mandated by NYC apartment regs for people with kids under 10 years old. I was chatting him up about the impending kid:

Me: So, do you have any kids?
Super: (amusedly grunting) Heh. Oh yeah.
Me: And it’s all joy, right?
Super: Heh. Maybe.
Me: People keep telling us we won’t get sleep for while. But it’s worth it, right?
Super: (laughing, looking at me like I’ve gone off my meds) Heh.
Me: And then 18 years later, we’ll get our lives back.
Super: Hmm. No, they don’t want to leave.
Me: Oh? So we don’t get to get rid of them once they’re grown?
Super: (looking at me like I’m kind of a moron) Heh heh. No, they don’t want to leave. One of my kids comes over to get us to pay for his gas!
Me: But you love them, right?
Super: (just looking at me without saying anything)
Me: Um, right?

As he laughed his ass off, leaving my apartment.

I’m glad he didn’t notice the swaddle pig.

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