“That’s a nice box.”

Playgroup went well today. I love it when it’s at my house because I can lay LB down. On the other hand, that means I *have* to wake up and get the place ready. Last night was rough. LB decided playtime shows up at 3am now. So I went to sleep again this morning with her and woke up an hour before the playgroup. *sigh* So much for impressing people with my Mrs. Cleaver skills (it’s a lie anyway).

Today we went to Costco. LB is such an attraction for people. Old people are magnetically drawn to her. Kids point her out to their moms.  Other babies gawk. She is a big flirt and everyone enjoys her two teeth smile.

After the *sixth* person stopped me about the grocery cart cover Oma got for her, a gal with a baby came to stand behind us in line.

Let’s face it, there are a lot of things about being a mommy you knew you’d love. Making your baby laugh, watching her light up when you enter a room, snuggling her while you read at night, finding a new favorite song to dance with and sing to her, bathing with her.

But there are some things I didn’t anticipate hating.

Today I did something I can hardly believe. In fact, I’m so embarrassed about it, I’ll share it with all of you.

I’ve been feeling odd. Strange. Emotional. Bloated. Big-boobed. And late.

I just realized I’ve been sitting here, hunched over my keyboard typing away in the front of class with my boobs hanging out the top of my shirt.

Damn pre-prego clothes.