-Anatomy of a Play Date
-Droppin' it Like it's Hot (even though it's kind of not)
-Roll the Credits
Anatomy of a Play Date
Can we just talk about play dates for a second?
When I was a kid, I would call up a friend and say, "Can you come play?" The friend would say, "Let me ask my mom," and would then scream, "MO-OM!!! Can I go play at Abby's house?!" The mom would say, "After you clean your room." Then the friend would say to me, "My mom says I can after I clean my room."
And I would say, "Okay. We can bounce bouncy balls."
Then the friend would say, "Okay."
And that was that.
But now there is this new thing.
The play date.
As I understand it, the play date is when the moms arrange for their children to play together WITH THE MOMS. A mom calls up another mom and says, "How's about a play date Tuesday at 10?" And the other mom says, "Let me check my schedule," then screams, "Johnny! Come hang your coat up!" Then she gets back on the phone and says, "I can after soccer practice, at 10:30."
And the first mom says, "Okay. We can eat bundt cake and drink Bloody Marys."
And then the second mom says, "Okay."
And that's that.
I don't like play dates. I think they are stupid. Plus, I don't think I would like a Bloody Mary at 10:30 on a Tuesday morning. With or without the bundt cake.
So if you know me, or my kids eventually know your kids, just know that my kids are going to call your kids and ask them to come over to play. And here's the best part...
YOU. AREN'T. INVITED.
Just think...you can do the laundry, take a bubble bath, or read a book. And heck, my kids will probably come to your house to play, too, and then I can do my laundry, take a bubble bath, and read a book...at 10:30 on a Tuesday morning.
And our kids can bounce bouncy balls without mommies (soused or otherwise) hovering all over the place.
Droppin' it Like It's Hot (Even Though It's Kind of Not)
For the life of me, I can't get a good picture of this number:
Maybe that's because at this stage, there is no good picture to be got. This little lady is hangin' out so low that I swear at any moment I'm either going to pee my pants or have some other, less attractive than peeing, sort of outburst.
Don't think about that too much.
To turn over at night is an immense undertaking, one which requires something akin to a five point turn, and I am keeping the Charmin toilet paper company afloat and the water bill high.
I finally found a nursing bra after going to five different places in two different towns. I tried it on in the shop and liked it then, and I happily forked over the $55.00 that it costs to give my kid free food. But when I took it home and put it on with another particularly lovely nursing item that I had just bought seven of, I burst into tears.
"I'm a...MILK MACHINE!" I cried. "I just bought fifty five dollars of ugly!"
Brian was sweet. But I could tell he was trying not to laugh.
I am, in short, an emotional train wreck and kind of sort of ready to be done being pregnant. I appreciate and am very thankful for this opportunity. But let's face it. The ending there is a little rough.
So come on baby, let's drop it like it's hot.
Roll The Credits
Today is my due date, and I do believe that this will be my last Pregnancy Ponderings post (until next time, if we're lucky). So I find it appropriate to give credit where credit is due.
This pregnancy was made possible by the following:
Heavenly Father, a man and a woman who love each other very much, matter, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cherries, water, fries, tomatoes, carrots, ice cream, broccoli, whole milk, celery, apples, oranges, toast, honey, and cherry coke.
Any resemblance of the baby to any person, living or dead, is genetic and entirely intentional.