I literally am in love with my son, the brick. I didn’t quiet know what to name him so I asked my brother. He promptly replied with, “Ballsack”. So for now, my son’s name is Ballsack the Brick. It has a nice alliterative ring to it, but I’m not sure how comfortable the teachers will be with his name when I send him to kindergarten in a few years. So Ballsack will be his middle name. If anyone else has suggestions for my son’s name, please don’t hesitate to speak up.
In all honesty I really thought I was going to post about getting good sleep and eating well because that’s exactly what I haven’t been doing the past few days, but I just can’t get over my son, the brick. I guess I can throw in a little PSA though: drink warm tea and read and make sure to sleep. I actually got my first real seven hours of sleep last night for the first time in a week, so here’s to keeping that up. And I had a delicious omelette today with spinach and cheese so now I’m Popeye and I’m about to do some invigorating yoga. Health is A-1. Go healthy bodies, because healthy bodies equal healthy minds.
But back to my son, First Name Ballsack Curran. I truly love him. He’s currently napping:
Doesn’t he look so peaceful? He sleeps in my bed until I can afford a crib for him. It’s nice to take care of something that can’t die. I killed two cacti in the span of one day. Before you ask me how I did that, SYKE it was my mom. Those two children, Maya and Wanda, were knocked over by my mother on move-in day in September and they died, unable to be placed back into proper soil. My mom killed my children. This is soap opera levels of drama here. And I have one other son now, Stevie my succulent with little dinosaur stickers on him. However his leaves are turning brown and I’ve placed him in intensive care. He isn’t camera ready today. I should probably also mention my first son, but he was a lot of pain to give birth to, and I still miss him, so I don’t talk about him much.
His name was Oliver. My son, Oliver, the kidney stone. Yes. I had a kidney stone spanning the length of the fall semester last year. I had to get him surgically removed. Now that I’m typing this I feel like I’ve told you all about Oliver before? Just like I couldn’t remember if I told you all about J-Hope last post? Oh my god. I have a terrible memory. I’m a grandma. Not literally, but in the sense that if I tell you the same thing five times I’m sorry I honestly don’t remember, but it’s best if you just smile and nod with me anyway.
I have no pictures of Oliver, no remains of his body. He crumbled in my kidney when they tried to grab him and pull him out, so he just came out and they got rid of him. I asked for pictures or the cremated remains, but alas, he was too far gone.
A single solitary tear will slip down my face if I continue to reminisce about my lost child. I must treasure what I have in Ballsack the Brick.
I say this because there is absolutely no way I can kill him. I watch him sleeping now and know that he is safe. I am clumsy, but if I drop him he won’t get brain damage. I can trip over him and not break any limbs, because he doesn’t have any. I can forget to feed him because he can’t eat. I have the perfect child in this brick. I think I’ll adopt more lost bricks of Boston. Ballsack deserves younger siblings, and JESUS A PROPER NAME I CAN’T BELIEVE HOW MANY TIMES I’VE TYPED THE WORD BALLSACK.
Even if all I have to do for this child is let him sit in the same spot for literally as long as I want, it still warms my heart to place him on a nice, uncomfortable college mattress or let him look out the window at pigeons and the laundry rooms of the next door building. I have given him a life that I think he enjoys. Maybe I’ll paint a smile on him. Anyway I like taking care of things, because it sets a nice little tingle in your chest when you do. This whole post about my son the brick is just a long winded way of saying do nice things for people, no matter how little. Now stop reading about a brick and live your lives!!!!!!