Balloons Full of Breathe and Glitter on the Mattress

Having children makes you rethink the oddest things.  Like balloons for instance, (helium excluded because helium is pretty fucking awesome).  “Mommy blow up this balloon”.  Okay. I’m blowing my hot nasty breathe into a latex bubble only to immediately get it yanked out of my hands so my child can watch it “pffffftttt” expelling my recently excorcised hot nasty breathe back in their face.  Fun times right?  Then there’s pool toys.  And most importantly carnival prizes like inflated hammers and characters.  Either the Carnie has a nice little air pump, or he put his moldy, rotting mouth on that little plastic nub, and blew his sour whiskey breath into your kid’s new toy.  Guess who gets to make sure that toy remains blown up after you go home?  Me.  Guess whose mouth was on it before mine?  A hepatitis carrying carnie.  Awesome. 
 

Next birthday, when I give you a balloon, remember how weird it is that I am giving you a bubble full of my breathe.  Whiskey smell optional.

 

Glitter is another product I never had an issue with before children.  My craft projects including glitter were pretty minimal.

Now glitter has become like a freaking plague.  You can’t get rid of it.  You’ll spend day’s tracking down glitter on your table, your floor, your hands, your face, your pets, your children, your childrens friends, your food, diapers, the cat's litterbox...  You’ll be tempted to throw out items that have been infested with the stuff.  You’ll go to work thinking you are uncontaminated, only to have someone tell you there’s a piece of glitter on your cheek. Fuck!   Maybe instead of trying to fight it, just roll in it. Embrace the glitter phenomenon.  It's EVERYWHERE!  You really can't hide.  It's in my lipgloss right now.  And I'm wearing it.  Shit.