"Guuurl, you have got some ferocious veins!"
To which she replied,
"That's it! That is the title of my book!"
Turns out she wants to write a book, an autobiography, partly chronicling her struggles with cancer.
Ferocious Veins...coming soon to a book store near you.
Got me thinking, if I were to write my own book I think I would call it, Ferocious Poops.
My son can poop in the morning, while chilling in his crib, and it is powerful enough to wake up Michael and I...all the way in our bedroom. Keep in mind we don't have the baby monitor on...and we have a fan going.
Now that is a ferocious poop...and such a wonderful way to say "Good morning".
This whole getting up in the night again thing is absolutely sucking out my soul. Having had days upon days of uninterrupted sleep spoiled me positively rotten.
Michael heard the words he dreads the most last night (probably even more than if I were to say, 'I think I may be pregnant'...yikes).
"Babe, can you get this one?" In a drowsy, half-asleep, pleading whisper.
I want to get up...I really do. My brain registers that Henry is awake, squirreling around and hungry and I need to get up.
But like a quadriplegic, my body will not move. It will not cooperate with the signals my brain is sending:
GET UP, GET YOUR LAZY ASS OUT OF BED AND FEED YOUR CHILD.
Nothing. Not even a twitch from my big toe.
Cue, the pleading whispers.
I wish he would just say, "No, I have to work in the morning, GET UP." But he never does.
I feel like such a turd. A lazy turd.
As we were playing this morning, after 1st breakfast, (And before Second Breakfast and Elevensies...my son eats like a hobbit), Henderson almost rolled completely over. What a BIG boy! I got a shot of it...okay so he really only got about half way, but that is a good start.
Color me proud.
(P.S. If you just understood that Lord of the Rings reference we can officially be best friends.)
We have a Santa Party to attend tonight. I hear Santa is actually going to make an appearance, so hopefully Henry will cooperate and we can get some pictures. Fingers crossed. We attended this party last year...sans baby, obviously. I am guessing this year it will involve a lot less imbibing of the Holiday Cheer.
Damn. Being a responsible parent blows sometimes. Not the parent part- just the responsible part.
This is completely unrelated, but this commercial has been TOTALLY freaking me out lately.
EWWW. Just the close-ups of the feet sliding in and out of that contraption gives me the willies.
I have a weird thing about feet.