This is actually the third blog I have started since I found out we were moving back to West Africa. The first, I posted on once. I can't remember what it was called, where we hosted it, or what the password is. The second, I started when Bean was born. I actually did find it this morning and remember the password. It had 11 posts, but the last three or four were uninspired, two line updates. I decided to try one last time following a conversation I had with friends regarding arm pit hair.
I recently started going with a couple of friends every few weeks to get sugar waxed. Not at a salon, a middle aged fully veiled woman waxes us in the guest room of her downtown apartment. She isn't veiled at home, so it isn't quite as scary as it sounds, but I'll admit I thought it was a bit shady the first time. So as we are waiting for the cab to take us to our waxing lady, I am telling my friends how Bean has become fascinated by my grown out arm pit hair. So much so, that the night before I had to use it as a bribe to get her to eat dinner. Trying to juggle dinner, baths and bedtime with two toddlers who are running circles around the table, screaming and refusing to eat while The German worked late, I finally gave in and promised Bean if she ate all her dinner I would show her my arm pit hair. She stopped in her tracks, jumped up in her chair, and shoveled it down. With the last of her scrambled eggs and peas still stuffed in her cheeks (yes, sadly this is dinner on desperate nights), she threw her spoon down and mumbled "Lemme see it". After telling the girls this story, my friend K laughed and said, "You should blog". An hour or so later, after recounting a tale from my latest GYN visit during another friend's bikini wax which I had specifically saved for its distracting properties, K said "Okay, you really should start a blog...but maybe anonymously."
I laughed it off because really, my life isn't that interesting. The next day I texted K to see if she needed anything from the grocery store we were passing. It is in the middle of downtown and a pain to get to, so a once a month kind of stop, but it has the only mozzarella that is affordable in this city. She asked what we were doing in that neighborhood and I explained how we were on our way back from the hospital where I had just had an x ray and 6 holes drilled through my toenail for drainage after Sprout broke a wooden bar off the baby gate and smashed my foot with it, sledge hammer style, as I turned the corner to see what all the noise was about (see the still purple toe, one month later, in the above picture). She texted back "You. Blog. Now."
I finally let her convince me last week, when Bean apparently taught the daughter of S, our mutual friend, how to pee in the yard during preschool. Bean is a pro at this. She hasn't lost her balance or splashed on her pants since her second birthday. She is also pretty good at finding any snacks or meals our guard has stashed for himself in the garage and eating them when nobody is looking, leaving me to come up with an impromptu meal replacement for him.
So here ya go K, this is for you! I'm pretty sure you are the only one who will read it, but I will give it a shot!
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