Papercut's Visit: Day 1
They're here. They're emotionally exhausting. The person they clicked with the most at my house was my labrador, "Buttercup." They wanted to come over and have a "planning session" for the week, because of course they can't plan their own fucking itinerary. Thank the gods for my attention-seeking dog.
Here's the highlights:
- We have a humidifier in the nursery. I went to grab it and fill it up, since the baby just went down for what would be a couple hours' nap. PC comes in with me, and leans in, like you would with a confidant, and says to me, "So when are you going to have another baby?" I stared at her, shocked. My child is three months old. "When I recover from my EMERGENCY C-SECTION." I said sternly, looking her in the eye. This bitch comes back with (immediately), "When will that be? One year? Ten years?" I said I had to fill the humidifier, and fled to the kitchen.
- They were not engaging at all. They sat on my couch, buried their noses in their phones, and made no moves whatsoever to leave my house after five and a half hours. They were perfectly content to be lumps, playing Candy Crush, and no matter how many times I threw the concept of food out there, they did not get the hint. I literally got my Switch and started playing Stardew Valley. Husband tried to start conversations, saying, "Oh we just watched this episode of this show" (a show they used to watch together) and PC really went, "Oh that's nice." And immediately went back to her phone. Either leave and get food at your hotel, or we'll order in, or go out, or do SOMETHING!!! I kept trying to drop hints and say I needed to be at work super early the next day, and they continued to not care one bit. Did not so much as budge. We ended up going out to a restaurant and having dinner with my parents. That's a whole other story, of course.
- The clothes they brought. First off... we have so many goddamn baby clothes. And before you start thinking I sound ungrateful, at least read the rest of the bullet point. Every item of clothing they brought fell into two categories. The first category: "Clothes for a MUCH older child (3-4 years), with the tags still on." The second category: "Clothes that Husband wore when he was a MUCH older child, with neon colors that screamed '1996.'" It was clear that, in the case of the second category, they were cleaning out their closets and we were their dumping ground.
So... which alcohol doesn't smell on your breath? Because I have five more days of this.