Baby got a library card* today. She’s three months old and needed her own card to register for Mother Goose sessions…
(Cue the beginnings of psycho-mom-who-stands-in-lines-to-overschedule-her-kid.)
…and there were only two spots left…among all the libraries in Calgary…who cares if it’s across town from where we live…and I couldn’t register online with my card…she needed her own…which you have to get in person…but the library doesn’t open until noon…her nap time…but dammit, it’s Mother Goose…
Baby needs to learn how to lay down the rhymes.
So the librarian, very nice, but a bit oblivious to the pending naptime meltdown, asks, “What level Internet access would you like?” “For her?” I point at the monster gnawing on her fists. “None for now, thanks.”
“Now, don’t forget your daughter has all the same library privileges as you…but she can only check out children’s books.”
“Hey, fist-eater, you hear that? No, trying to sneak out of here with Shades of Grey. Maybe Twilight. Maybe Hunger Games. But no Grey.”
*The latest addition to baby’s card collection: Birth Certificate, Social Insurance card, Alberta health card, Passport, Nexus pass, Library card.
