…as in Curtis the Cactus, not my brother-in-law. (One is definitely more prickly than the other. I’ll let you decide which one.) This little guy has come a long way since he joined me.
My sister took this shot of her four year old son, Aiden.
“Seriously? You’re going to spend your time taking pictures of me when then house looks like this? Do you see all the crap on the floor?”
Lucy doesn’t quite understand the chaos that comes from home renovation. That’s why she keeps chewing on the old drywall pieces that are laying around.
It’s Sunday, and we’ve retreated to our underused upstairs in an attempt to escape the deafening sounds of construction taking place in our bathroom. The indomitable is typing away on his laptop, working on something important and profitable. I’m just sitting in the freakishly expensive massage chair that he bought when he was single with lots of money to burn and reading celebrity news on MSN’s site. Once all the construction is done, I’m gonna nest like a determined waterfowl. And when that day finally comes, I’m not going to be the lazy looking one.
Since becoming pregnant, I’ve discovered that on any given weekday you can have continuous baby entertainment between The Learning Channel and Discovery Health. This non-stop labor and delivery coverage has really grossed out the men renovating our bathrooms. Even though they may find it nasty, but I find it disgusting when they stink up the only functioning bathroom in the house.
What the hell is this? Why do people think pregnant women need Rambo sashes to hold up their underwear?
There are some perks to being pregnant. For instance, most people are eager to hold the door open for you. You also have a somewhat valid excuse to gorge yourself as if you were carrying a litter of elephant seals. However, I do get very tired of the constant repetitive daily question from everyone, “How are you feeling?” This is, of course, spoken in a higher pitch, gentler toned voice and accompanies with a head tilt. I know people are asking in kindness, but some day I’m going to answer truthfully and say, “Well, my boobs are leaking through my shirt so I have to wear itchy kotex-like pads in my bra, my hormones have caused me so much acne that I have zits on my butt, I’m on the verge of developing hemorrhoids, and I can no longer see lady land.” I guess if I say all that I probably won’t have to mention mood swings.
I canceled my Victoria’s Secret card today. I have to admit it hurt. It felt like I was turning my back on my sexy single underwear days and committing myself to huge full coverage white mom briefs. They even offered to drop my APR to 9% which is really good for in-house credit cards. They usually run around 21%, and I think VS was no exception. Thought it’s painful to no longer be an Angel (and a VIP Angel at that), I know I’m in the position that I can just pay for my underwear out of my bank account. I don’t need to finance my drawers. It did have a $1600 limit, and if I wanted to buy that much, I would need to charge it. But honestly, who needs that much underwear? No Angel, that’s for sure. I’m pretty sure to be angelic, you need to be nearly naked all the time.
