What Must He Think of Me?

My husband came home from work the other day, and saw this: What do you think was the first thing he said?  Did he comment that she must have been really tired?  Maybe ask as to how long she had been sleeping, or perhaps if she might be a bit under the weather since she was taking a late afternoon nap.

But, no.  No, those are not the first things that came to his mind.

The first thing out of his mouth was, “What did you do to her?”

Really?  REALLY? What does he think, that I added Ambien to her afternoon milk sippy so I could eat the Oreos by myself?  That I knocked her unconscious so I could take a bubble bath?

I told him he should probably check her pulse, and he laughed.  But I think he actually might have when I left the room.

Thanks for thinking the best of me, honey.  Love ya!

Running Out

We had to leave the house today.  It doesn’t happen that often because it’s always such an ordeal.  And as always there were baths to be taken, noses to be de-gunked, outfits to be chosen, spit-up to be removed and bird’s nest hair to be tamed.  And of course I had to get the children ready as well.

You see, Brutus had his one-year-old check up today and it has hit me that my “just had a baby” excuse for carrying around extra weight has been stretched about as far as I can stretch it.  So, I had to find an outfit that camouflaged the muffin top and mommy pooch and made it look as though I’d been running marathons since he was born in order to get in shape.  It was a vain attempt.

I finally decided to aim for bag-lady chic.

Now, I’m looking for a new excuse.  I never had this problem after my daughter was born.  No, not because I actually lost those last 15 pounds, but because I got pregnant again, and that is basically the quintessential defense for not losing weight.  Unfortunately I’m not ready to go that far again to excuse away the baby weight.

I guess instead of an excuse, I should look for a solution.

Oh, alright.  I’ll brainstorm for answers, just let me finish eating this last Twix from my daughter’s Halloween stash.

 

To My Daughter

You lie asleep.
Eyes closed with lacy lashes pressed to pale skin.
Blond curls matted in the sweat of sleep.
Lips parted, fingers curled, nose upturned.

You once snuck in under cover of dark,
But now slip into bed shamelessly,
Pulling blankets to your pillow.
Your pillow in my bed.
It's permanent home.

I should take you back.
But your feet pressed gently into my knee,
Your head inches from mine smelling of sweet sweat
Your dreamily breathed “I Love You”
Keep you in place.
On your pillow.

In our bed.