So J and I were living in this tiny little studio apartment. We were POOR. Like we were always hungry and trying to scrape enough money to buy rice and shit.
It seemed like J's birth father lived with us. He was this old Asian dude who I guess didn't speak. He would dance with me and he cooked rice.
My mom was there too and she was playing with "the baby" however "the baby" was one of those toys that was made of plastic and crawled and then turned its head to one side cried and then crawled some more. Actually very similar to this.
Everyone seemed to be fine with pretending it was the baby. Ooing and aughing over it.
Nutter Butters Rule!
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Hi, I don't remember how or where I came across your blog, but I heart people w/kids who are sticking it out in SF.
I think your dreamland FIL lives downstairs from us. He's very polite and sweet and is the main reason we still jump out of bed to shut our 16 month old up when she's howling to raise the dead at 3 a.m.
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