Reality Color Commentating & Mia Torments Me Further

Eric is always making fun of my TV viewing habits. I admit, much of my TiVo list includes most of the Bravo lineup. I swear, I only watch "The Real Housewives" to mock the utter avarice and cattiness. He refers to "The Biggest Loser" as "that fat people show." "Project Runway" is "that show without straight men." In a fit of desperation, while struggling though last year's writers' strike, I got hooked on "Make Me a Supermodel," and ohmygodIcantbelieveIamgoingtoadmitthis, even "Groomer Has It." Yeah. Good times!

Eric laughs and mocks, but I usually know where the remote control is. Which means I decide what we watch as we try to wake up in the morning. To his credit, he will sit through an entire reality hour without complaining. That doesn't mean he doesn't comment, however. Imagine watching reality TV with Yogi Berra or Harry Kari. That's exactly what it's like watching "Top Chef" with Eric. I don't mean that I get a second-hand play-by-play of the culinary action. I mean he comments on everything that happens in each episode. And then there's his favorite reality TV pastime: picking out the penis.

The penis is the contestant whom Eric deems the dickiest. On this season of "Top Chef: New York," that would be Stefan, the overly confident penis from Finland. Once said penis has been identified, I can expect the rest of the episodes to be filled with such colorful phrases as, "I want to hit him, " and "He's such a penis, I should draw a scrotum on his neck." So it was, this morning, that we watched the season finale with all the gusto of the Super Bowl, all the while Eric actively cheering against Stefan. I believe he shed a tear when Hosea was announced as this season's winner.

On to the next show, and undiscovered penises yet to be labelled and mocked.


Mia has mastered the art of rolling. She's using it as a form of transport now, rolling from one end of the family room rug to the other, and stealthily sneaking up on an unsuspecting dog. Heretofore, she has been an unwilling and often complaining member of the Tummy Time Club, preferring to bitch and cry whenever she ended up in such as position. In the event she accidentally rolled over onto her tummy, all heck would break loose, and no peace would be had until her precarious situation was rectified.

Imagine my surprise, then, when she did a barrel roll, a la alligator, and decided to sleep on her tummy. And no, that's not quite an accurate description. She decided to take a face plant and sleep like this:

Okay, I may not be the best mom ever, but I know that babies aren't supposed to sleep on their tummies. Oh, sure, I know lots of babies who will ONLY sleep on their tummies, but Mia has never been one of those. Yes, she is sleeping in this picture, and yes, her face lies directly against the mattress. The first night this happened, I convinced myself that one of two things was going to happen: a) she would most surely suffocate, or b) someone from the SIDS Prevention Alliance was going to come and knock down my door and send me to mommy prison for allowing her to sleep this way.

Then I got over, relaxed, and realized that she would be okay. And you know what? She was just fine.

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