This is why I don’t clean. I just cleaned the kitchen, top to bottom, and I am EXHAUSTED and in desperate need of a nap. Or some Ben & Jerry’s. Or a massage. Or all of the above, ooh yeah. Alaina is perched in her highchair, eating “nummy ‘cine” (also known as fettucine alfredo) before noon, so hopefully she’ll take a long, long nap. Then perhaps mommy can charge her batteries a little bit. I’m actually thinking of lying in bed, watching some crappy daytime TV, and then passing out during a commercial. Yes yes, sounds like a plan.

Fetus Update: All of a sudden, she’s getting big in there. I used to be able to sort of ignore the fact that I was pregnant in order to tend to other things, like Alaina or household chores or sitting down comfortably. Now, when I sit, she presses herself into my upper half. As if to say, “Excuse me, mother, get your fat organs offa my house.” Then she’ll kick me in my hips as some sort of attack mode, closely followed by getting a bout of hiccups. Oh, little baby girl. I know you’re not comfortable, and neither am I. If you could just get your big sister to stop making so many messes, I would promise to do nothing but lie down and eat cookies for the next 8 weeks or so. Or maybe even just persuade her to not run so fast and get into absolutely everything. Since I don’t think that’s very likely to happen, we’ll just have to co-habitate as nonviolently as possible. Ergo, I won’t eat pickles, and you won’t kick mommy in her cervix. Deal?

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