I am guilty of projecting, and if NPR is on to something, most of us are. I post the picture of the sun flare on the rim of a fresh cocktail, not the picture grenadine all over my shirt like a murder scene after Duke knocked the glass out my hand. I post the video of him giggling, chasing me through the kitchen in his walker. Not the one where I can hear him crying from my car when I leave for work.

And the thing is, I have to -- have to -- believe that other people are projecting too, because otherwise I'm stuck wondering what the fuck I'm doing wrong (or on really bad days, what genetic voodoo is causing my kid to have something wrong with him). Because I have heard about babies who sleep all night and play independently with their toys, and every time I do, I secretly (and not maturely) hope that maybe we're just not comfortable enough with each other to share the shit-shows. Like, please be projecting? Please?

Duke is in a tough phase right now. And I say phase because even if it's just semantics, it's gotten me through a handful of difficult days. Everything is a phase, which means it has to pass. In other news, I read today that in a study, mothers indicated that it gets easier after eleven months. So, I've got that marked off on my calendar.

***
So in full disclosure, I'm about to begin projecting. Or perhaps a more positive spin, I'm choosing to see the good.

This weekend we put some miles on our stroller, went to the beach twice, drank some rose, extensively researched rose cocktail recipes, discussed which piggy went to the market a handful of times, ate some tacos, dreamed about those tacos, wondered how to make those tacos at home, had lunch with friends, planted some tomatoes and finally, poured myself a glass of Vernors, because it's the perfect recovery drink to go with the Sunday sads.

****
Doesn't he look hilarious when he's pissed?!


Happy new week, you guys. I hope it's a fast one!