Broken back could use some hot dog and mustard pizza

First some pictures to entertain you with:

I saw this in Tesco last week. Compared to the types of pizza they sell in Japan, I can’t gather hot dog and mustard is too strange but it still made me stop and go “ew”. I do imagine that there’s at least ONE person in the whole of England who thinks hot dog and mustard pizza is like, the best ever, and will be quite sad when they discontinue it.

This is one of the booths we saw at the Food and Drink Festival preview last Saturday. We had just eaten so we didn’t actually take part. I don’t know why this booth amused me. Perhaps it’s the American flags all over the shop. None of the other ethnic booths had any sort of patriotic pride like this one had. You got to love America and its constant need to choke you with the stars and stripes.

Lastly we have the Beatles bobble head dolls that were on display at the Liverpool Museum that we also stopped at last weekend. I mainly took this because my step mom and her sisters have a set of Beatles bobble head dolls that are worth a bit of cash but they don’t look a thing like these ones. So yeah, I took this picture to show my step mom but because I was unloading my camera phone pictures, I thought I’d tack this on. You’re welcome.

If you aren’t interested in hearing about my kid, you can stop reading now as that’s all I got for you this week. Hey! Hot dog and mustard pizza. That’s so gross, right?

So I’ve been struggling with Henry this past week. He’s going through yet another phase and it’s exhausting. At 5 months old he started whining. As a person who tends to whine herself quite a bit, I’m now feeling quite bad to all those I’ve afflicted my whine upon. Not enough to stop mind you. Whining is fun if you are the whiner and not the whinee.

Henry is getting to this age where he’s getting bored of the play mat we got him. He’s too small yet to use the activity center we got. He wants to sit up and play with things but he’s not strong enough to sit up on his own without toppling over and banging his head. He wants to stand but he’s not strong enough yet to do so on his own. He wants to play with his blocks but his hands are too little to grab them properly. And dammit, he wants to hug and squeeze the cat but she’s too damn fast. What this all means is that he’s frustrated ALL THE TIME - hence the whining.

"I'm just SO unhappy!  I'm unhappy about being unhappy!"

My back, oh god, my poor back – picking him up from the floor, putting him back down, rocking 16 lbs of screaming infant, holding him at that awkward angle so that he can practice sitting and standing. There aren’t enough stick-em heat pads to cover the areas where my back (and shoulders and arms) ache. I have honestly started to question whether or not I waited to long to have a kid. I almost feel I’m too old for this shit. There’s a woman at the playgroup that we go too that has a 7 month old boy and is currently 4 months pregnant. She seems nice enough but you know that the woman is fucking insane.

"I'm so happy the Packers won I shall chew the ear off this giraffe."

On the plus side, when Henry isn’t whining or sleeping or eating, he’s usually smiling. It’s a big gummy grin that forces a wave of drool to come out. He giggles like mad when I do the Oscar Mayer bologna song. I’m glad he likes it because it’s the only song I can seem to remember on a moments notice. The other day I tried to think of a song but failed and just made up a song about Oscar Mayer hot dogs. Later on that night Andy asked me to please sing to him and “make sure it’s not a song about processed meat.”

Right now Henry is asleep. It’s a beautiful sound, silence.