Ahhh, screw molars. She is my fave.

I understand where “don’t throw the baby out with the bath water” came from.

These.

How the hell did I live through the first few months? I. Am. So. Tired.

Best Birth Control Ever.

I can’t believe she’s growing up.

I’m currently going through all our photos and trimming/organizing/uploading them from the past year. I’m having a hard time choosing some of my faves to upload. But you know how you thought your kid was SO CUTE and you look back and realize.. “ehhh. Maybe she wasn’t the drop dead beauty we thought.” Ahhh, comeon now. You say it, I know you do. Maybe it’s a realitve thing. Maybe it’s that baby acne and sleep deprivation. Who knows. But you look back and think, “WOAH! I don’t remember THAT face!” and other times you look back and think, “ahhhhh.. what a cutie. WE MADE THAT!” and you’re a little proud of your genes for creating that cute lil’ thing.

Two things: Molars SUCK. New computer GOOD.

When asked if you could please bathe the child, do not look at your wife and ask, “Why? What are YOU going to do?”

Because she will answer, ever so snidely, “I’m going to smoke pot and masterbate in the kitchen, arsehole. No, really? I’ll probably, oh, I dunno, pick up after you and do the dishes and laundry like I do every gawddaham day.”

Trust me. You asked for it.

Does anyone else do this? ...

So, there’s this fancy store in the northwest called Nordstroms. My Mom always went to the anniversary sale because the fancy pansy items were almost affordable then. I, on the other hand, hate that place. I remember one time sitting in the store laughing at all the yuppie rich bitches shopping and making up lame bumper stickers with a friend of mine. “I’d rather be laughing at people who’d rather be shopping at Nordstroms” to counter the “I’d rather be shopping at Nordstroms” bumper sticker my Mom had on her Toyota Highlander. You know, because I was a hippie and all.

Yesterday we were downtown Portland at 7AM with all the psycho sale savin’ people. We weren’t down there to shop. No no, we were there to stand in the rain and watch my cousin in a parade, which turned out to be pretty damn fun, by the way, minus the 35 degree pelting rain and crowds, we had a great time.  We decided that hey! Since we’re poor and downtown let’s play our favorite game “what would we buy and guess how much this is.” First we went into the Columbia store, which we love. I found no less than 300 bucks worth of stuff I must have. Whole outfits I can wear to work OR snowshoeing in. That there is versatility my friends. Next, we walked in to the Banana Republic, which is where the “guess what you can’t afford here” game originated. (We much prefer the affordable Gap cousin to Banana Republic and if you forget about the child labor in China, you can really get some good deals.)  Just after we left, however, I realized I had to pee. Like the nazzi place it is, the Banana Republic had no restrooms, so we walked across the street to Nordstroms. Instantly greeted by isles of perfume and very expensive makeup, it hit me that the last time I was in Nordstroms was about a year ago at which time we were shopping and I had to pee. Come to think of it, the ONLY time I’ve been in Nordstroms lately is when I have to pee. Looking back, I’ve used roughly three rolls of fancy Norstrom TP (oh! Note to self: when we’re using leaves for TP, go to Nordies) but I haven’t actually shopped there in about thirteen years.

So, all those people shopping at Nordstroms? Keep doin’ it. ‘Cause you’re the reason people like me get to pee in fancy places without restrooms, but rather a “ladies lounge”.

On my way to Starbucks, on the blissfully brisk, sunny November day, there were a collection of motercycles parked out front on the street.

Next to the cycles was a collection of men drooling.

If this was seventh grade PE, my house would be the one standing on the wall waiting to be called on to a team. My house would be the one pegged during dodge ball. My house would be the one whose shorts fell down during volleyball and everyone pointed and laughed. My house is not one of the popular girls. Nobody wants my house.

We’ve dressed her up. We’ve cleaned her up. We bought her contacts so she wouldn’t have to wear those big, clunky glasses. We redid the back yard. We painted. We scrubbed forty friggin’ years of shit off the floor. FORTY YEARS, peeps. That’s a lot o’ scrubbin’.

We have another open house today. So far, we’ve had no activity. NONE. Apparently, the FIVE people that came through in the past two months scoffed at our lil’ house. It’s too this and not enough that. The house on the street directly behind us sold for 10K more. IT was the same house, on a busier street. The only difference is that it had an RV pad. Ours has AC. I think that’s a fair trade, don’t you? But someone was willing to pay ten thousand dollars for an RV pad and sweat in the summer. Fine. Whatever. I still think our house is getting a bad wrap.

We’re just waiting for the real estate bitch to show up (on time, hopefully, this time) and we’re off for Sconeday. So far, my goal has been to remain, consistently, at 157 by the end of November. Yesterday I was 156 and today I am 158 (after breakfast). My pre-baby weight of 150 is my goal my March and by June? I better damn well be in my size 8s so I can get knocked up again. At any rate, I’m thrilled to be heading out for a scone. Even if it’s while my house is being mocked horribly. Oh well, at least *I* don’t have to wear the gym shorts anymore.

Y’all… I am not just feeling pukey.. I am hunched over the sink dry heaving. Why? Seriously? Here’s the theory.

I have two babies again.

This is why God didn’t feel I needed twins…