Oh, this is good.
Remember my investigative journalism regarding Lanacane Anti-Chafing Gel? (That’s right, I linked back to my earlier post. It was that informative.)
So. We were watching TV the other night and a commercial came on- and it asked me if I hated that chafing feeling. I turned to P.J., perhaps a little too excited. It began in a crazy animated way, with cartooned, dancey figurines having trouble with, you know, walking and other thigh issues. Then- oh, then– the folks were given Lanacane. And they turned into the folks from the ad! That’s right, remember the joggy girl? Apparently she was just doing her own chafey thing and was unrelated to the largeish woman or the jiggy guy. The woman, obviously, was still the star. She swished her skirt willy nilly, which- yes- did attract the guy doing the Running Man. I knew it. I knew they were involved. I just didn’t know the whole story from one paper ad. I kinda feel like I saw the director’s cut.
I cannot stress enough that I am getting absolutely nothing from the good people at Lanacane. I should. I really should. I mean, I’ve dedicated two separate posts to their product in a little less than a month. But no- this is a freebie. A labor of love. My way of saying- Lanacane Anti-Chafing Gel, I believe in your advertising campaign. Keep it up. And keep it coming.
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Yesterday as Nora and I were driving to work, the radio was playing. Between having safe driving skills and convincing Nora that she was having a great time, I was trying to tune to a non-irritating song. This can be tough. Especially if one is driving during that span of time right before the hour- it’s all commercials. Which can be enjoyable. But sometimes I just want to hear something nice and fun and classic rock and nothing at all resembling Creed.
We got halfway there before I realized that I was singing along with a song that, only moments before, I deemed unacceptable. So, in the span of a few minutes, I a) decided to change a song, b) forgot to change the song, and c) fully integrated the song into my driving experience.
It made me think. Perhaps more than it should have, but it definitely did. There’s gotta be a metaphor in here somewhere- Maybe about my ability to tune things out? Or the ‘eh, whatever’ mindset? Either way, I DON’T WANT TO LIVE LIKE THAT. I spend at least two hours a day in the car, between commutes, kiddo appointments, and errands. That’s a lot of ‘eh, whatever’ time.
Maybe I’ll become a superbly productive car individual. Or perhaps I’ll take that time and zen out (’cause nothing says “relax” like an infant in the backseat.) There’s always the audiobook.
Speaking of the infant in the backseat, Nora has become a stellar little person in the past few months. Mind you, she’s always been a great baby, but nowadays she’s getting downright kid-like. She’s almost eight months old. This is mind-blowing for a couple of reasons. One is that I’m pretty sure I just had her. The second is a matter of unfairness- I was definitely pregnant for at LEAST three times this long.
She has two fully realized teeth. Her ankles cross when she’s seated. When she laughs, its imbued with this sense of utter hilarity at something, or with something. Sometimes she’s coy. Or furious. Her eyes light up with the intensity of a tween girl’s unrequited love when she spies her cats. Meals have become Christmas morning, especially now that she can feed herself and there is virtually no distinction between baby food and really good food. The sign for “more” has inexplicably morphed into a thrice-banged fist, a la a king with a turkey drumstick. Or Mr. Ed. Nora actually plays with her toys. She has preferences and systems that I am slowly beginning to follow. She crawls. She’s practically a wind-up car, what with her speed, erratic flight path and penchant for corners.
But early in the morning and right around dusk she becomes my baby again. With her left thumb in her mouth and her cheek tucked against my neck- sometimes with a frog shoved in there for good measure- she snuggles. There’s no twisting away to see what the heck is that thing or any impatient gesture of I’ve GOT this. All she wants in the world is in her parents’ bed- her Dad reading her a small mountain of books, various things attached to her mother, a kitten or two sleeping by her feet- and did I mention the frog? Or the otter, the giraffe, the blankies, the smallish bears or the bunny?
Yeah, I think I was wrong in earlier posts. This is my favorite age with Nora.
At least ’til next month.
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