My Last Will and Testament

Do you know who I am!!!

So this whole blog thing is supposed to be a journal of my escapades as a stay at home dad. There's only one little problem with that. I'm not exactly doing that yet. Alas, the day of the corporate takeover is fast approaching. One week from today the wife goes back to work which means I am in charge. Me. By myself. All day. With the CEO. Wow,  I almost got through typing that with a straight face. Seriously though, the CEO takes over a week from today, 8AM sharp. I can only imagine that at 8:05 a.m., I will be like this. We have had a few trial runs over the last week that have been, well, "interesting"...and by interesting I mean, filled with bloodcurdling screams from a very pissed off CEO. My main hurdle has been giving her a bottle. And by main hurdle, I mean "The one thing that terrifies me to my core because she will not take one. At all. Ever." (Big con of having such as kickass breastfeeder and breastfeedee). Shouldn't be an issue though, who needs food anyway? And hungry babies are really easy and happy, right? Soooo unless I can get that figured out, I will just have to walk her around all day long until Mom gets home with her precious liquid gold boobs. Which means in a matter of days I'll probably look like this. 

I figured the only thing to do before I enter the 7th circle of hell known as the Hungry Infant Who Refuses a Bottle Circle, was give a little summary of how the first 10 weeks of my little caddies life have gone. Since I last wrote about it, she has parted ways with her 2nd Mommy and 2nd Daddy and has begun a strong up and down friendship with her the bee that hangs from her carseat. I'd also like to note that the bee is actually a caterpillar but seriously, try saying caterpillar in baby talk over and over again. Screw that, that thing is a bee. At ten weeks she is already wearing 6-9 month onesies. This kid is taaaall. And with giant feet that attempt to bust out of any feetie pajamas we try to put her in. And another thing, I don't think I ever said the word "onesie" before January and now I can't get through ten minutes without using the word. "Can you grab me a new onesie?" "Did you blow out your onesie?" "Yes, she really is in 6 month onesies." I can't think of any other situation where this happens with one single word. 

Also, her favorite way to be put to sleep (aside from nursing of course) is like this. Which is A. Very obviously against her anti-tummy time edict and B. The one and only thing that I can do to her that Mom can't. Not that Mom hasn't tried, but the CEO has decreed this to be a daddy-only hold position. There had to be something right? Lastly, the kid can fart. Not like "awww that was cute, she must be pooping" farts. Like "Jeez Tom, did you really have to rip one right in the middle of the kitchen. IT WASN"T ME!!" type farts. Quite impressive actually. I just wanted to get a few of these things in writing before April 17th so if I'm found wandering the streets looking like a homeless person, talking baby talk to myself there will be some documented reminder of my former human self to snap me back to reality.