on my mania...
Yesterday I decided that I must be pregnant because I've gained two pounds in the last week-or-so. I told my husband, and he gave me one of those looks. Then he poured me another glass of wine.
At least I'll know who to blame when our child is born without a face. Or something.
Apparently, I need to get over this hey-maybe-I-could-get-accidentally-pregnant thing. I should probably think more about creating a child when we are ready, and not just because I want something tiny and adorable to cuddle. It's an issue, really.
Speaking of which, are you tired of hearing about it yet? Are you? Because this is most likely only the beginning, my friends. When I come home from Target next week with burp-rags and tiny pink baby socks (yes, I'm counting on my faceless child being a girl), then I will have reached the point of no return, and will definitely be seeking some sort of intervention.
We'll see what happens, anyway.











22 wrote me a note:
Thoughts? Questions? White cheddar popcorn? Do share.