On Sunday, we celebrated the anniversary of the day that Tariku was first placed in our arms. He apparently got the memo that mommy was going to be a gooey, sentimental pushover that day because he turned on the wicked T-Bone charm and it totally worked. I gave him everything he wanted all day long, setting a fantastic precedent for next weekend. But still- how fun was that? To just go ahead and say yes to everything. Another ride? Sure. Ice cream? No problem. Listen to that song for the fiftieth time? Rock out! Watch another episode of Gabba? To hell with IQ points! Fries for lunch? My thoughts exactly! It was so liberating.
Sadly, Scott was laid up with a back injury, so T and I decided to celebrate by going to the Santa Monica Pier and riding the balloon ride over and over until I was so nauseated I literally had to lie down on a bench. T kept vigil at my side and gravely announced to all passers by, “Mommy barf.”
Then we did the only sensible thing to do when nauseated- eat a bucket of fries and chase pigeons.
But seriously, he was adorable, he was perfection. It was nothing less than a freaking miracle. Actually, on the hardest days it’s nothing less than a freaking miracle. It’s just easy to forget. Until you look at this picture, taken two years ago on Monday: