Our Thanksgiving was lovely, and was capped off with a seriously un-lovely cold that mostly skipped right over the mobile children and felled the Ogre, Lincoln and I like pine trees at Christmastime. I’m actually going on day 2 in the same pajamas, surrounded by tissues, tea and orange juice, and once again thanking God that I have my very own nebulizer to use on just such occasions like this, when breathing is so difficult that putting my hair in a ponytail leaves me gasping for air.
But the day after Thanksgiving, a package arrived. In this package was the catalyst for a Thanksgiving miracle. Honest to God, I screamed when the Ogre pulled it out of the package. It is the single most amazing baby gift that anyone has ever sent us. Most of all, because it transformed Lincoln from this:
And that, my friends, is the gift. Right there. A friggin’ TARDIS blanket.
Lincoln loves it. And I’m not kidding, in the four days since we got the blanket, he’s gone from being Angry McAngrypants anytime he’s not sleeping (and yeah, he was even angry whilst eating) to being happy. Genuinely, heart-breakingly happy.
Before, this was our routine: I would feed him, and he would fuss and bob his head and let out occasional screams, then I would burp him, while he screamed, then I would try to soothe him while he screamed, then he would fall asleep whimpering and occasionally let out a little sleepy scream. Now, I feed him, and he mostly eats pretty happily, then I burp him, then I hold him and look at him and he looks back and smiles at me. Then I’ll talk to him in a ridiculously high-pitched tone, using mostly nonsensical phrases, and then when I fall silent he’ll look at me with these wide, dark-lashed, beautiful blue eyes, shrug his tiny shoulders, and say, “aahhh-goo” and I’ll squeal in delight and tell him he’s the cutest most adorable smartest best baby who was ever born in the whole wide world yes he is, and he’ll laugh. I’m not kidding, the kid laughs now. Here, I’ll prove it:
And it’s all because of Doctor Who.
(I’ve also stopped eating dairy, but I’m pretty sure that’s beside the point.)
The transforming blanket was made by Charlotte of Waltzing Matilda, and you can read her post about the blankets here. You can also comment and tell her how completely brilliant she is for making the most awesome baby blanket that has ever existed, because she is, and it is.
In honor of the magical powers of the TARDIS baby blanket, the kids and I had a Doctor Who marathon this weekend. We started with the advent of David Tennant, because Christopher Eccleston is my favorite doctor ever and I actually know every single episode by heart and have no need to re-watch them, and made it all the way through the overly dramatic yet tear-jerking demise of Rose and well into the teeth-grittingly-pathetic unrequited love of Martha. It’s really difficult for me to watch Season 3, because Martha (who is, oddly enough, probably the only companion I would actually like in real life and is certainly the most heroic) is my least favorite companion. It’s just so sad to see her making puppy dog eyes at the Doctor, and after about three episodes I really wanted to fast-forward to the refreshing lack of frustrated desire that Donna brings to the series. But I”m going to continue, because…I don’t know why. Because I feel like I should, I guess. Watching David Tennant made me realize how much I miss him as the Doctor, though. I’ve gotten used to Matt Smith, and I even like him sometimes, but David Tennant was so fun. Matt Smith isn’t nearly as much fun. He’s quirkier, but lately the show has gotten so heavy that I’ve wanted to throttle Stephen Moffat. Bring back fast-paced, fun, witty dialogue! Stop making every episode revolve around some new, totally not-at-all surprising “revelation” about the Doctor’s character! Stop creating awkward, nonsensical plots to serve a purpose (I’m looking at you, The Angels Take Manhattan) and try to remember how you used to make actual good episodes that could stand on their own (Blink, Silence in the Library, anyone?)! Stop destroying River Song! Actually, just go away, Stephen Moffat. You kind of suck now. Stick with Sherlock.
Okay. I’m done rambling about Doctor Who. Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell you the story of how this weekend I went to confession and instead of actually confessing my sins I mostly just cried. I feel really bad for the priest. I think I should send him a fruit basket or something. Happy Monday, and I hope your Thanksgiving was wonderful!