I swear to God this kid is going to give me a freaking heart attack.

I’m not talking about her new-found temper tantrum kick. Nor am I talking about her obsession with making us read I Love You Through and Through over and over again. Having to read it 8 times in a row to avoid her screaming her head off is enough to drive me freaking insane, but not quite heart attack inducing. I suppose the amount of drinking I’ve done lately to silence the book’s prose as it endlessly plays through my head may eventually cause a heart attack, but I digress.

We started her on solids. Real solids, not just the vaporized fruits and vegetables thing that people claim are solids. Thankfully, I took a CPR class for work a few weeks ago, which has made me feel a little more at ease with the process.

Until tonight, that is. Granted, only one out of every five attempts at picking up a piece of food is successful. The rest have one of a number of results:

  • Dropped down her bib
  • Dropped down her onesie and into the diaper, making for a fun game of “What do you think THAT is?” when changing her later
  • Slides from her fingers into her palm, unreachable by her mouth
  • Falls out of her mouth, mushy and disgusting with baby spit
  • Thrown, forcibly, to the floor, usually mushy and disgusting with baby spit
  • Stuck in her hair by the adhesive qualities of disgusting baby spit

On one rare occasion where food actually entered her mouth tonight, she winced and coughed. I have been repeatedly telling myself she’s still learning and that mistakes will happen. Yet after a few hours, she still looked like she was having trouble getting the turkey meat back up. Some of you may think I’m exaggerating, but in my opinion, time perceived is very real. And those of you who don’t think I’m exaggerating obviously have kids of you own and fully understand what I mean.

Luckily, her gag reflexes kicked in and she coughed it up. Unluckily, I had already shit my pants in fear and bolted upright from my seat, hurting myself in the process.

Tonight was also bath night. Meg and I are very good about never letting her out of our sight; we are in a perfect harmony of passing responsibility off to each other as we weave in and out of the bathroom doing other chores. It’s graceful and elegant.

Suffice it to say, we’re great parents and don’t take our eyes off the kid while she’s in the tub. What that doesn’t do is stop Leanne from randomly deciding to bend straight forward, face-planting into the water. I try very hard at BJJ to be able to stretch like that. Leanne had no issue sitting on her butt and slamming her nose and mouth below the surface of the water.

About an hour earlier, I was at least confident that if she was choking on food, my new CPR knowledge would give me a fighting shot at expunging the offending article of food. What we didn’t cover in CPR was what to do when your baby decides to headbutt the duck in the tub.

After another few hours of watching the poor child gasp and cough water out of nearly every orifice on her head, a red-nosed baby looked up at us and smiled. We finished the bath and I excused myself to make a very strong margarita. I then resolved myself to the bathroom to begin counting gray hairs.