and my blog is all about being pregnant and depressed. Did I really become unfunny? Or did my children become less stupidly entertaining? I don’t think I’m not funny. I think maybe she just doesn’t find me funny anymore, although I certainly do.
When I’m laying on the couch and she sits down and I tell her that THIS IS THE GASEOUS COUCH and then she complains when that is exactly what happens–that’s funny.
When I’m awake in bed at 4 a.m. and I can’t decide if I’m hungry or horny and my stomach growls so I get up to eat–that’s funny.
And then when I choose to fall asleep on the couch and the cats decide I’m a super-sized heating pad and there’s one laying on my feet, my butt, and next to my head–that’s funny.
When I think I might have been the one to lose Emily’s Ipod one day when I was angry at her and took all her electronics away, but I tend to hide them in good places, and I can’t remember even doing it–that’s funny.
When Haley is taking her A.C.T. in Powell and in the middle of it she texts me this picture:
with this caption:
That thing has balls the size of my head
Well, what can I say?