I don't have a lot to say, but if I have to look at that toddler dressed up like Dolly Parton on my blog for one more second, I'm going to snap like a rubber band.
So.
Instead of blogging, I've been:
Scrubbing baseboards. At some point, I'll fess up to the fact that I just got a Dyson and how it's revolutionized my life, but I want y'all to go on thinking of me as a woman of the people a while longer, instead of one of those tools with a Dyson. I swear, I got a great deal.
Obsessively mixing and matching bedding options for Henry on the Pottery Barn Baby website, thinking I have it all figured out then promptly yelling, "Oh hell, that looks like a girl's room!" to no one in particular. This nesting thing is a happnin'.
Getting my vampire fix with True Blood and trying to figure out why Sookie is the least bit attracted to Bill Compton. Anyone?
Eating Tums.
Drinking decaf iced tea out of a super chic plastic carafe (not directly out of, mind you, which would take the chicness down a notch or two). At some point, there'll be a picture. Not of me. Of the carafe.
Hoping that between the calcium from the Tums and tea, I don't get kidney stones, which would probably hurt worse than the round ligament pain I spend a large portion of my day whining about and hobbled with.
Taking unnecessary tests due to falsely elevated blood pressure at the doctor's office: Harper + doctor tools = epic hollering = me caring for my terrified child and the eardrums of bystanders = 150/90 (for three minutes. until they re-test it) and retesting = epic hollering.
Watching Katia inch closer and planning the requisite grocery store trip.
Arguing with my husband about the origin of the giraffe and alpaca. Not regularly. Just tonight.
That about wraps it up.
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