La La How The Life Goes On

For The Birds

Posted on: May 19, 2015


Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, everyone. Been up since before 4am with Baby Sister, whose bedroom is surrounded by trees that are apparently the hot new location for singing birds. The singing starts around 3:30 and ends promptly with the sunrise. We have used a fan AND a white noise machine to no avail. It’s like the bird versions of Keith Moon, Courtney Love and the entire lineup of Led Zeppelin are trashing our backyard hotel room; they are relentless and unapologetically loud. Their speakers go to ELEVEN. And as a result of all these ridiculously early mornings, I feel one hundred and eleven.

For those of you considering having children I must warn you: becoming a parent ages the hell out of you. My passport photo on the way to China to meet Bambina is unremarkable. My passport photo just 5 years later to go meet Baby Sister is a whole ‘nother level of WTF. Forget wrinkles and other expected signs of general aging. Those are no big deal. I’m talking about the enormous dark circles and giant bags under my eyes. The eyes that say, “We have seen some shit you would not believe at times of the day and night you can scarcely imagine.” The BabyDaddy’s photos show the same age progression. The facial equivalent of the President Going Gray by The End of The First Term. You know the situation. Every POTUS ever (except Ronald Reagan, who got DARKER; thank you, boot polish) has gone gray in short order after taking office. It’s the job equivalent of having ten kids.

The beautiful young neighbor across the street had her second child over the winter. We recently just saw each other up close after a few months and I was stunned by how tired she looked. Like, 5 years of aging in one winter. And I was like, “Yep, girl. This is how it goes.”  I of course said nothing because “you look tired” is second only to “you are fat” in the How To Ruin A Woman’s Day handbook. But no one emerges unscathed from having an infant and a two year old unless they have full time help to ensure 9 hours of sleep and uninterrupted workouts.

So it’s clear that I need some outside help at this point. But not a nanny and not a skin esthetician; those can come later. No, right now I need someone more along the lines of a sharp shooter specializing in flying, singing asshole early birds. Someone suggested spraying fox urine on the trees to deter both squirrels and birds, both from eating the peaches and plums that grow and also to deter any loitering and singing urges. I’m all for it, but the BBDD has a few questions:

1. Whose job is it to obtain urine from a fox?

2. How is that urine obtained? Do they hand the fox a small cup and a towelette and tell her to wipe front to back first?

3. Once we purchase it, how do we know it is really fox urine and not, say, raccoon urine or–please god no–Dude Selling It On EBay urine?

Legitimate questions all. But considering it’s 6:30am and for the third day in a row I’ve already been awake for three hours, I’m ready to take my chances.


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