Moments in bad parenting
Eric and I were so tired last night from our work. We pulled up all the tile, ceramic and vinyl, and hauled it to the curb. I ripped off the old fencing and installed most of the new (four boards short dammit). We were really, really tired.
Also because Ollie spent Saturday night shrieking any time someone put him down.
So we gave in. The next thing we knew our eight month old was eating organic teddy puffs and staring, slack jawed, eyes full of amazement at Britney Spear's sucky opening to the VMA's.
We tried to make sure to interact with him and the TV ("that's Sarah Silverman baby. She's famous cause she's pretty and crude, but she's never funny." "That man goes by Fiddy Cent sweetheart, he was shot nine times.") but we knew it was wrong.
Of course my nipple has a big scab on it where he bit me, so the wrong goes both ways.