Child groom

This morning, as I was puttering around the bathroom getting ready for work, I heard Chris giggle from the shower. A second later, a peal of hysterical laughter escaped from behind the shower curtain. “What’s so funny?” I asked. He only giggled in response. “Hey! What’s going on in there? What are you laughing at?” After I pestered him some more, he pulled aside the shower curtain to show me, laughing all the while. He had altered the text on the bottle of shampoo, so that instead of “fortifying shampoo,” it said “fortifying poo.”

My husband? Is 13.

We always hurt the ones we love

I just remembered that I clocked Chris in the face last night. We were sleeping back-to-back and both decided to turn over at the same time. Somewhere in my attempt to heave myself around, I smacked him right in the nose. Hard enough that his hand flew to his face and he groaned the groans of a man whose wife just punched him for no good reason while they were both asleep. I remember stroking his ear (?) and making concerned noises, but really, I was thinking to myself—I was still mostly asleep!—“Shhh…I’m trying to sleep.” I felt guilty for not being more awake and concerned, but hey, there was no blood and he wasn’t crying.

The funny thing is, I feel more guilty about this than about the time I woke up and “accidentally” elbowed Chris in the head—kinda hard—because I’d dreamt that he pissed me off and I was still mad when I woke up.

All of my eggs just committed suicide.