It’s one of those days when I wouldn’t mind giving Emerson away. He has the most precious smile when I’m holding him and talking to him. When he coos and does that open-mouthed, silly grin, it makes me just love his pudgy little body to pieces…and then I put him down & he instantly turns into a screaming tomato with this high-pitched, whiny cry that makes me feel like an awful mommy. I'm convinced his cry would make one of those never-moving British guards flinch. And the funny thing is, I found out today that according to the government, he doesn’t exist. How crazy is that? Yep, the 90 day warranty hasn’t started yet, so I can still give him back.
I’d gotten Amelia’s social security card and birth certificate, but Emerson’s paperwork never came in. So, I call the state’s Vital Records Office, which informed me I didn’t have a child named Emerson. Funny. Really. Yeah, if he’s a figment of my imagination, I must have such a poor self-image that I think I deserve to be punished daily with lots of uncontrollable nighttime & daytime fussy fits! And it’s really funny because until the State figures it out and submits the information to the social security office, the Feds think I only have one baby. You know what that means—can’t claim him on taxes yet or they'll accuse me of making up an imaginary dependent.
When I think about it, I'd kind of like to have a federal investigator over for an in-home visit to prove to the government that Emerson actually is a real dependent. I can see it now--After I move 5 loads of newly-washed laundry from the couch so the guy can sit, Emerson pees on the guy's pants & refuses to stop screaming at full pitch while Amelia boops up all over his nice, $100 silk tie and Wyatt grinds Cheerios into his spit-polished wingtips, all while shoving a Pooh bear book in his face and saying, "Read!" or "I have Pew-wee".
That's a good enough image to make me smile through an hour or two of Emerson's fussing....
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