I’m like a bad scriptwriter. You know, the kind that introduces plot lines only to drop them a few pages later. Or, has new characters that pop out of nowhere, and then disappear.

That’s me with posts. I post about something that is really super-duper important right then and there when I am posting, and then I never come back to it. As a reader, that’s gotta tick you off. But maybe that’s why you keep coming back — you have high hopes for updates. You come over here to The Little Jobber, hoping that today will be the day with a follow-up potty post! And then when there’s no potty post you virtually wander around aimlessly, virtually kicking the empty beer can in the virtual deserted alley, hands stuck in the pockets of your virtual baggy khakis, glumly thinking, “Again, I have come here only to have my hopes dashed! I thought today surely would be the day that she’d tell us more about the potty. Why won’t she update us?” And then you raise your virtual fist to sky and shake it angrily while gritting your virtual teeth.

Well, grit your teeth no longer! If you promise to continue to come back, I will give you some updates.

Thank you.

OK, first up, the potty. Yes, we’re still in the three month introductory phase, wherein we sit Conal on the potty whenever we think of it, just to get him used to it. He sits on it and looks at his book, until he decides he’d rather run around the bathroom with a naked fanny.

The neighborhood party. I’m 75% sure we’re going to do a party in September, when fewer people are off doing those summer things that people do. The delightful Barbara has suggested that we hold a pink flamingo-themed party. Feel free to let me know what you think we should do!

Then there is Mo. We’ve been better with the shots and the fish oil. The shots are still an ordeal and the whole thing just really sucks. But, we’ve been doing them more regularly and, as such, Mo’s health seems better.

And, last, I know I mentioned that Conal was starting to walk a while ago. He’s a full-on walker now. He walks everywhere, mostly away from me and toward all kinds of danger.

So, potty, party, Mo, walking. You’re all set, folks!

And look! It’s a baby-wearing-big-sunglasses-photo!

Advertisements