Ever since I got pregnant the kitchen floor is a lot cleaner. Not because I’m sweeping and mopping every day. It’s cleaner because my uterus and my boobs collect all the food that used to fall straight down onto the floor. Maybe I’ve already said this. I don’t know what I’m saying most of the time. I call things by the wrong name. “Help me carry the laundry in” when I mean groceries. That kind of thing.
He woke up with the alarm clock this morning. At least we know he’s not deaf.
He also likes the pastor’s voice at Harvest.
Christmas is days away and I’m having trouble just keeping on track with the day to day stuff. I could use another month or two. Half of the things I ordered have not yet arrived. And I just want to sleep. Or play minecraft. I blame Gina for my newest addiction and for the floors needing to be vacuumed and dinner made. I haven’t picked up a book in days and I dream about everything being made of blocks of material and last night Justin Bieber was dancing around in his underwear, which I can’t blame on Gina and I think instead it has something to do with noticing that Haley had painted her Justin Bieber’s poster’s eyes with sparkles yesterday.
I wasn’t going to talk about mucous but this commercial just came on and now I feel like I have to. I have so much mucous all the time. Day and night. I can’t wait to not be pregnant! I will never again complain about my creaky joints or my hangy gut or finding a gray hair.
I’m lying. What else would I do with my time.