Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Yesterday before I started in on all my running around I treated myself to a latte at the local drive through espresso stand. I hate to admit it, but some of the reason I go through the drive through stand is because Griz loves it. They usually all have some kind of dog treat, and if you hit the right one, sometimes they have full sized dog bones; not the half sized ones for small dogs.
I pull through and order the usual: (what they often times refer to as the "why bother") single, tall, decaf, nonfat soy latte. The soy is a new change since I've (very painfully) cut dairy out to see if it helps with Colt's evening crying.
Anyway, the barista gives Griz a bone and comments on how cute he is. And who wouldn't, really? He props his chin up on the window and cocks his ears a little and gives you that, "Aren't I the cutest thing you've ever seen? Don't you want to give me a treat?"
Then she says, "How old is your baby?" and I reply, "Oh, he's going to be 8 next month." And she gave me the STRANGEST look.
Then I realize she's not talking about THAT baby...she's talking about THE BABY. Colton.
So, I quickly correct myself, "Oh, that baby. He's six weeks old."