sueeeus

• I love the donation trucks that make their rounds. Simply leave a pile of stuff on the front step, and vamoose! It’s gone. Now, if only I could get the pack rat Mr. Gadget to go through his clothes and donate things he doesn’t use. If only.
• A word of caution to anybody who might try to locate plastic pants or vinyl pants or diaper covers via Google. Ummmmm, there are some interesting people out there. And I have yet to find any smaller than adult x-small and larger than 4T (I bought a truckload of the latter, and squeezed Mr. Peebody in to one pair, one time, several months ago). Hello, are there not people who weigh over 50lbs* and under 100lbs who need some night time moisture leakage assistance? I am about to embark on a DIY project, and make my own.
• Same Mr. Peebody is going through some sort of a phase. He’s 3-1/3rd now, and is behaving in a ‘clingy’ way, whining, insisting on sleeping in the big bed with us (to which I’ve caved all weekend, bad mama, bad, bad mama), and this morning the tears and anguish at being left at daycare. Oh, the drama. I haven’t seen that drama for months. So why now?**
• The smell of tooth being ground away by the dentist’s drill is eerie and awful, if smells can be eerie. Not having searing shooting spasms when making contact with food or beverage, hot or cold, sweet or savory, makes it all worth it. One can hope.
• Mother’s Day is convenient for coercing husbands to help pull weeds from the garden.
• Relaxin’ when in the context of chillin’ and kickin’ back is a good thing. Relaxin, in the context of that hormone that helps loosen ligaments and joints in order to prepare for a journey through the birth canal, when produced in over-abundance, is not the most pleasant of things. Only 23 weeks in and already saddled (ha ha ha ha ha ha ha) with pelvic pain. When I stand, I have to be still for a moment before I can actually walk. At only 23 weeks. I’m fairly certain I’ll be a waddler this time too. Oh, the joy.***

*The average 3-1/3rd year old is not over 50lbs, does not wear size 5 –not 5T–, going on size 6, and does not wear size 12 shoes.

**Of course, it seldom helps that MIL somehow ALWAYS manages to make a comment about him being ‘left’ in the care of others. Without fail. I ignore it as though I don’t hear it, but I do hear it. Every. Single. Time. Loud. And. Clear. And now I wonder if he happened to hear it to. Thank you so much, dear MIL.

***NOT COMPLAINING!!! In the greater context of life and thankfulness, I’m embracing all there is to being pregnant, and endeavoring to enjoy and savor every moment of the journey. All of it!