Here's a little confession for you. I'm a type A personality with a perfection complex. I suck at sucking. I have a pathological need to excel and when I find something I just can't master, I invoke the famous Worth, "Let us never speak of this again," clause. It comes in handy when you need to continue labouring under the delusion that you are good at everything. Of course, there's now a whole laundry list of things that are taboo to talk about in my house but that's beside the point.
What was my point again?
Every single time I lose touch with reality and begin thinking I've finally got this mothering shtick figured out, something happens that brings the message back home to roost that no, I REALLY don't have a clue. There are days where things are so bad I figure my kid is lucky I've figured out how to dress myself, let alone her. Of course, those are the days we both hang around the house looking like scary-ass hobos but we never talk about those days here. And you'll never speak of them again either, right?
Anyway. We recently started our little Buggedy Boo on solids. Twice a day I've been mixing up some rice cereal and spooning it into her mouth while making what I hope are convincing "yum yum" noises. As of yesterday this lovely little domestic routine went off the rails. She used to smile and obligingly swallow her goop - I mean delicious, tasty rice cereal - but now I get the look of death and a fine, ricey spray all over my face for my troubles. Why? I don't know and this simply doesn't compute in my universe. In my universe, I know the why's. I always know the why's.
Since the only person why knows what the hell is going on is unable to tell me, for now I just have to suck it up 'cause this is one thing I can't see Scott agreeing to never mention again.