Then THAT happened...

As a dyed-in-the-wool daughter of the south, I am well prepared for births, deaths, sicknesses and everything that can be labeled "tragedy." We cook. Even when we don't have time to cook, you know someone's running into Kroger to get a rotisserie chicken because heaven forbid we darken a door at the home where something is afoot empty handed without a scrap of anything to eat. I even had a friend bring me a packet of dried Ramen once when The Ex-Mr. and I decided to divorce. We feed and eat.

So when Mr. RJ made his appearance into the world, I was all prepared and made two kinds of soup for the new mama and growing brood. And I did all the things a dyed-in-the-wool daughter of the south would do - I cuddled the baby, caught up with my friend, admired the new nursery, and complimented newly minted big sister Bunny on her prowess as a big sister. And here's what transpired:

Bunny: Here is RJ's raccoon. (Hands me a stuffed raccoon) Pretend he's RJ and you're Mama.

Me (in strangely falsetto voice): Ooooh look at my little bundle of joy! I'm so happy I have two beautiful children!!

Kristi: HEY, I don't sound like that.

Bunny: RJ's hungry.

Me: (still with the voice): Oooh, my little baby RJ is hungry!

Bunny: No. You have to nurse him.

Me: (stunned silence; mind frantically racing on how best to proceed. Because I'm pretty sure having a stuffed raccoon pretend to suck milk out of my boobies is one of those things that... I shouldn't do? Is this inappropriate? I really don't know.)

Bunny: WAH WAH WAH, he's crying, he's hungry. You have to feed him!

Me: (silently turns raccoon's head onto my boob and makes sucking sounds)

Kristi: And that's how rabies are spread.

i also got a killer case of mastitis