Just in case the sleepless nights, inability to wear anything appropriately in public that lacks an elastic waistband and constant lingering faint aroma of baby vomit had me feeling like any less of a parent, we let The Toddler pick out a fish few weeks ago.
Did you hear that? Weeks. That implies that we've kept "Cookie Choo-Choo" alive and well for three whole weeks. If you can't tell, that's utter amazement emanating from my pores.
And yes, his name is Cookie Choo-Choo.
Cookie Choo-Choo is a Beta. Twitter informed me that these suckers can live forever. Had I known that prior to our purchase, I may have opted for a pet store guppy although I did make the husband proud by purchasing a mid-grade Beta at a mere $7.99 as opposed to the fancier model that was priced at a whopping $21.99.
If I had to compare, this would be the Kia of Betas as opposed to the Cadillac of Betas.
So there we were in the pet store, full of the warm and fuzzies as I watched my son pick out his very first pet and attempt to pull nearly every other fish from the shelf. During the whole ride home we talked about how we would take care of Cookie Choo Choo and what it meant to have a pet.
And this is where I break to say, "God bless my parents. For every single hermit crab, hamster and goldfish brought into our house that, once the novelty wore off, quickly became their responsibility."
Because now? Three weeks later? I have a fish. His name is Cookie Choo-Choo and Cookie Choo-Choo needs his water changed every Tuesday. Do you know what this entails? This entails boiling a pot of water and letting it come to room temperature before The Changing of The Waters. I don't even cook once a week and here I am boiling fish water.
This past Tuesday was much like any other. As I was gingerly trying to pour Cookie Choo-Choo from his fishbowl into his drinking glass of a holding cell, the inevitable happened. Cookie Choo-Choo leapt from his fishbowl AND LANDED IN THE FUCKING KITCHEN SINK DRAIN, narrowly missing a fall into the abyss known as The Disposal.
Immediately I let out a hearty, "Oh shit!" as I quickly thought through lifesaving scenarios.
Do I grab him with my bear hands? Ew. That's so gross!
What if he falls into the disposal? Sayonara Cookie Choo-Choo.
Crap, what can I grab him with? Oh, this here measuring cup.
And after two passes with the 1/4c measuring cup and a mild anxiety attack on my behalf all the while yelling, "Hang on, Cookie Choo-Choo! Don't give up yet!" Cookie Choo-Choo was safely back in his fishbowl where he belonged.
He may be a bit traumatized but Cookie Choo-Choo lives to see another day.