Buggy NE-VER cries. Like ever. When I get home from work yesterday, she is sitting on the couch wailing and my Dad is next to her watching Moonshiners. Not comforting her; nothing. Basically ignoring her while she screams. I wish I had a picture of the look of relief on her face when she sees me.
Dad shows up today at 8am, and the Bug takes one look at him and decides this day is a bust. Automatic tears. She is clinging to me for dear life and literally gasping for breath when I put her down on the ground so I can brush my teeth. Love my Dad, but he is about as nurturing as a prison guard. His first order of business is turning on the TV. Yes! Doomsday Preppers. I suggest turning on Bubble Guppies for Bugs so she will be entertained and possibly fall asleep for a nap. Not to mention distracted, so I can leave for work, which I’m already 20 minutes late for. My Dad declares that she’s spoiled. I don’t know many 11-month-olds, but I don’t imagine many of them enjoy Doomsday Preppers marathons. I guess that makes them spoiled?
My heart is breaking as I leave my poor little Buggy miserable on the couch with her Grandpa, whose efforts at reassuring me that she’d be fine are, “Welp. She can’t cry forever.” Awesome.
This week can’t end quickly enough.