I had to make a quick run to Target with the kids yesterday to secure new humidifiers and filters since none of the ones we had were operational. I has Owen strapped to my chest and Mia tied down in the cart and was hussling my sick child(ren) through the store as fast as I possibly could when some lady stopped me to announce "That baby looks tired."
Um, really? What gave it away? His red-rimmed eyes? The bags that looks like bruises under same? And hey, since you are feeling so helpful, perhaps you could come home with me and get him to sleep for more than 15 minutes at a stretch, which considering that he can barely breathe through his nose or his mouth would be quite a feat. Admittedly, tearing out her carotid with my teeth was a bit of an overreaction, but I haven't gotten much sleep lately either.
For my recently departed 34th birthday I requested, and received, make up and moisturizer. Anybody get the impression that I am feeling old? In typical me fashion, I have been using the moisturizer but not the make up. I never seem to get a moment where one of the kids isn't needing something from me until at least 2:00, and by then putting on the make up seems rather futile, especially since Owen is just going to lick my face at some point. Maybe once the kids are in school I will turn into an actual grown up with make up and brushed hair and stain-free clothing.
Speaking of my birthday, I got one of the best presents ever on Friday. Now, to properly appreciate this, you have to play along a bit. First, you need to get that "I'm too Sexy" song going in your head. You know "I'm too sexy for my shirt..." etc. To really capture the moment, you also need to do a little booty shake. Are you ready? Are you singing the stupid song? Are you wiggling your booty? Ok then, here we go:
I'm too skinny for my fat pants
Too skinny for my fat pants
So skinny ('cept for my ass)
Why yes, I have spent the past five days bouncing around my house singing that song, although only when Chris isn't home. And sure, fitting back into your pants at nine months post partum is not exactly a fabulous accomplishment, but since I have spent the past nine months continuing to eat like I'm pregnant with triplets and since pants are always a problem for me as I have a lot of junk in my
trunk thighs it is a big moment for me to ditch the fat pants. Although now I need new jeans again, and that blows.