Saved by the Bird

Why is it that when I meet new people, I sometimes freak out and blather?

Today at the park, I met some of the other parents of kids who will be going to kindergarten with Gigi.

"So, what ages are your girls?" A nice woman asked me. She was wearing sunglasses. That always freaks me out if I can't see someone's eyes when they're talking to me and I don't know where to look.

So maybe it was the sunglasses, but without breathing first, I launched into a diatribe about the mathematical beauty of my children's births, how their birthdays and half-birthdays are all spaced out in three month intervals throughout the year, and what a feat of planning or God-given coincidence that is. "See," I said, suddenly very interested in this woman understanding how the calendar of birthdays in our household works, "Chebbles' half-birthday is approaching because Gigi's birthday is approaching, then exactly three months after that, Birdy will be four. It all works in a mathematically symmetrical manner..."

I could see the lady with the sunglasses start to panic on a minor level. So I abruptly stopped speaking entirely, creating a new, even more awkward situation.

Birdy came over and flumped onto my lap in her loosey-goosey delicious kind of way right in that moment. So I pretended to take off her ears and eat them, then she wandered back into the park.

Thanks, Babe. Happy early 3/4 birthday.