Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Alas, no. While I actually would like to roll around in both of these crib sets myself, God help me, I think I'm secretly Vintage Teaberry. It all seems obvious now. Don't delicate flowers, sage green velvet, ruffles of soft sheer eyelet and sweet pink and cream stripes say "Mo" to you? No? Are you really going to suggest to me that I am not reminiscent of an English garden?
Well, I'll just have to throw rocks at your stupid heads. Right after I get my hair set and go grocery shopping in my Laura Ashley picnic dress and heels.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
- I know I'm having a baby. If I haven't caught on by now, I have bigger problems than can be fixed by spinach puffs and cheesecake.
- I know who my friends are. I know which ones can be there.
- I picked my sister up at the airport myself, so I know she's in town.
- I registered for baby stuff that I wish people to "shower" me with, so I already know what sort of gifts I'm likely to receive.
If I wanted to, I could even look online to see what has and has not been checked off the registry. But I won't; it seems tacky.
Yeah, the only surprise that could come out of this would be for me to be unsuspectingly thrust before a mob of all the women I know (and their cameras) in my bacon-grease stained sweatshirt, ugly high-water maternity jeans, and bad hair. I know it hurts, Mom, but I'm fairly certain you can bear to forgo that particular pleasure, if only to allow me some rarely-requested time with a blow-dryer and some product.
The whole process of registering was a weird one for me. I felt like a spoiled kid: "I want this one in lilac, NOT grape, and I want this one in every size....actually, better make it two in every size..." Honestly, the baby-stuff store is overwhelming in itself. Endless rows of booties and bath toys; entire walls full of bottle and nipple options... I've obviously never done this before, and after being there for two hours, I realized how much I don't really know what I will want or need. If I'd stayed any longer, I would have had a melt-down in the bumpers-and-sheets aisle and the helpful staff would have had to clean up the ensuing puddle of my tears and snot.
"Why are they all pink?!?" I would cry as they carried me away. "What's a layette, anyway? I don't want a bottle warmer, I want my old jeans-size back! I want to wear sexy underwear again! I want an Oompa Loompa nanny now!!"
Friday, September 15, 2006
Phone: ring ring ring
Me: (brightly) Hi!
K: Oh! Hi.
Me: What's up?
Me: ok, this is stupid...
K: what is?
Me: Um, was your birthday yesterday, or three days from now?
K: haha! How long have you known me?
Me: I'm an asshole, I know.
K: Three days from now (*audibly reveling in my assholishness*)
Me: Ok, well I knew it was one of those. I was gonna call Steph, but I'm pretty sure she wouldn't know either. (*shamelessly trying to bring others down with me*)
K: Yes. She would probably agree that it was one of those as well.
Me: I'll call you three days from now, then.
Thursday (yesterday, three days after Monday)
Me: *forgets to call*
My blog: Happy Birfday, Kyle!
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
"Tsk, well, now's a good time to get used to that, l'il mama."
Pft, well, I don't think it's fair. I'm supposed to be 'getting my rest now,' not 'practicing irrationally scheduled feedings now.' And don't call me "l'il mama." It's stupid. I'm not little. I'm big. Big like moose.
"You should try keeping some saltines next to the bed for those middle-of-the-night cravings."
Oh, yeah. Like I really want to put CRACKERS in my mouth at 3:30 am. Yum Yum. Salty dry crackers. Just what I was dreaming about. How did you know?
Friday, September 08, 2006
Cute, isn't it?
I remember the days when we were allowed to have potatoes.
Don't be blindly taken in by his contrite appearance. You think he doesn't know what he's doing? Look at him.
All getting your sympathy. See, right now, you're thinking, "Awww....look at that face. He feels so bad about what he's done. You are horrible people for not giving him a doggie biscuit right now and telling him he's a good doggie woggie wumpkins. Isn't he? Isn't he a good little wumpkins?? Yes. Yes he is."
That's how he gets you. He mopes around all sad, and then you forgive him and then WHAM!! Tissue party in the living room! YAY!! YAY!! Oh, what, you people were planning on using that entire box all by yourselves??? Gosh, I'm sorry....