The problem about being depressed and stressed is you don’t care about other people as much as when you are feeling happy and good.  When things are going well, I am as attentive as a teenage boy under the bleachers of a class of catholic girls without underwear.  But when life keeps slapping me I the face like an angry pimp looking for money, I tend to get a little distracted.

I get this “fuck the world” attitude where I don’t care about anything.  I stop showering, I wear sweatpants in public, my hair cakes to my face from tears and drool, and I use my toothbrush to clean my computer keyboard while mold multiplies in my mouth.  That is all fine and dandy, but when you apply this approach to raising your kid, they start to develop some bad habits.

The Munch didn’t want to wear her diaper, so I said fine and she peed on my lap.  My thighs still smell of urine because hey, they were black sweatpants and moisture blends right int.  The Munch wanted to eat her granola on the stairs, so I let her as she poured her entire bowl out on the carpet.  There is still some there for her to snack on two days later because the thought of pulling out the vacuum made as much sense as circumcising myself.   Munch then thought it would be fun to eat dinner in the bath, which it was, until her metabolism kicked in and she pooped.

I hope to get out of this funk soon before she not only gets used to doing whatever she wants, but I tarnish her fashion sense for life.

(Notice the all pink monochromatic outfit here while she devours granola mixed with cat hair and lint)