Things have been incredibly hectic lately. Norie got wrist surgery last week, which took her out of action for a few days and will prevent her from being able to lift Evie without pain for a few weeks. In the meantime construction began on our new bathtub, which will be great when it’s done but in the meantime is a huge inconvenience. Fortunately, last week my mom visited to help out with things – and it was, indeed, a huge help. As an added bonus, Evie was super excited to hang out with grandma!
Needless to say, they had lots of fun together:
Grandma also came with us for another visit to the pool, which was great as it meant we had a photographer this time:
As always, Evie had a blast:
Once grandma left, things got really insane. The workers have been so loud that Evie gets really upset, so we’ve basically had to spend the entire last few days away from the apartment.
To pass the time, I decided to take Evie to the Houston Children’s Museum, which is actually a pretty amazing place. We’ll get season passes when Evie’s a bit older. For now she stays in the “Tots” section, which was still pretty cool, and Evie had fun playing with stuff and meeting other babies:
She also got her first lesson in sharing (my favorite part of this video is listening to the woman brag about how her baby doesn’t use pacifiers anymore, only to eat her words a few second later):
While there, I had a rather strange interaction with one parent. She saw Evie doing this:
The woman then informed me in a strangely condescending way that I shouldn’t let Evie put the ball in her mouth because other children might have touched it. I can only imagine what she’d have thought if she saw this:
But that’s fine, she’s a germaphobe and I’m not, whatever. What was particularly weird was that there were kids putting things in their mouths pretty much everywhere, yet she singled me out.
The way the woman spoke made it seem as though she thought that the possibility of germs had simply not occurred to me, and that she was doing me some service of enlightenment. I got the distinct impression that she was assuming that, because I am a man, I must not know how to take care of my child, and must be clueless about simple things like hygiene.
I was good and resisted the urge to say, “Why don’t you worry about your own kid, who, by the way, kind of looks like a moldy apricot,” or “But if she doesn’t drool on it now then when I rub it all over your baby’s face it’ll chafe,” or “Bite me.” What I did say was, “Eh, she does that with everything.” I can add this to my list of weird reactions I’ve gotten from people who seem to think that only women can be alone with their children.
But who wouldn’t want to be out with a child when that child is as cute as this?