For a long time, when I asked Demon Baby what I did for a living, he replied, "The Computer."
After a while, I tried to explain that Mommy is a novelist. She writes books. I would open jacket flaps and show him my picture. I don't think he understands.
And he most definitely doesn't understand this week. This week, as my three older children know and understand, is Deadline H*ll.
This means Mommy doesn't cook. She doesn't clean. She doesn't do laundry. And if you know what's good for you, stay away from her.
It also means . . . the man above and I are having a torrid affair on speed dial.
Demon Baby is a very fussy eater. He is also underweight. He eats four things at the moment: macaroni with butter and salt, Mexican rice from a local joint (also on speed dial), bananas, and Papa John's cheese pizza. This is a good thing, since I am on a first-name basis with the delivery driver this week. Yesterday, we had pizza for lunch and macaroni and cheese for dinner (plain macaroni for Demon Baby).
In this day and age, I don't think Demon Baby understands that not very many mommies get to work from home full-time. I don't think he understands what a deadline week really is.
He only knows that, despite the mountain of dishes in the sink, that this is his lucky week. The Papa is coming--multiple times. Pizza boxes are stacked out by the garbage.
We're living like a frat house.
And Demon Baby loves it.