I gave Jack Sea Monkeys for the first night of Hanukkah last year. [I do appreciate, on a guttural level, the inappropriateness of this gift as they are technically in the brine shrimp family and bottom feeders and all that...buy hey ho we aren't eating them. They aren't living in my kitchen. Mind you, I'm not telling Zalman the Rabbi. But I'm not so bothered that I feel it's worth a pebble on Rosh Hashanah.]
Jack was SOO excited. Mr. Stone was excited. And it’s not like we don’t have pets. We have Gracie, and Cosmo, and a worm farm, and an ant farm. [Both the kid's own-you-own habitat kind, not as in, our house is built on one...] There’s just something so kitsch, so cool, so fun about Sea Monkeys.
We followed the instructions to the letter. We waiting with anticipation for them to hatch. It felt like it took ages. And then they arrived. And they haven’t stopped.
And here it is, ten months later and they are still kicking around. Or something. They’re all pregnant. Again. It’s getting mighty crowded in there. When the packaging said ‘zoo’ I had no idea. I thought we’d just get a few and they’d grow bigger each month. As in taller, longer, not round sack of eggs bigger. Groan. I’m going to have to upgrade the tank.
The novelty has worn off. Jack only looks at them once a week now. If that. But I feel this maternal instinct to provide better for them. And boy, can pregnant sea monkeys eat. Well, I suppose they have an appetite because they are eating for fifty or so. And I thought I was hungry with Max. Must go feed them again…