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I have vacuumed. (even the bedrooms)
My son has brought out nearly all of my pots and pans and placed them on the dining room table. He also got out his own toy pots/pans. He has some complicated fruit/vegetable "ice cream" he is making. He said it is red ice cream and requires the use of tomato. Avant-garde, no?
It is something else.
Maybe I will clean the kitchen in hopes of bringing on contractions as the vacuuming didn't do it. Let's clean that fridge!
I hear about a number of women lately who go into labor at 37/38 weeks (all on their own or something) and I am wondering, "what does their uterus have that mine doesn't?" Maybe mine is just too nice? Is it like staying at the Ritz-Carlton in there? Obviously the room service is just too good. Maybe I went too far in offering a pillow menu? (True story, Mr. Jenner and I once stayed at this place that had a pillow menu. Hand to God. I can't make up anything that good.) I need to make my uterus more like a Motel 8 on the side of a crappy high-way with hookers in the parking lot and a broken ice machine. This metaphor is going to weird weird places.
Aaaaaaaaaand now my kid has taken out his lego and is filling all of my pots/pans with lego. This is going to be some meal.
My son has brought out nearly all of my pots and pans and placed them on the dining room table. He also got out his own toy pots/pans. He has some complicated fruit/vegetable "ice cream" he is making. He said it is red ice cream and requires the use of tomato. Avant-garde, no?
It is something else.
Maybe I will clean the kitchen in hopes of bringing on contractions as the vacuuming didn't do it. Let's clean that fridge!
I hear about a number of women lately who go into labor at 37/38 weeks (all on their own or something) and I am wondering, "what does their uterus have that mine doesn't?" Maybe mine is just too nice? Is it like staying at the Ritz-Carlton in there? Obviously the room service is just too good. Maybe I went too far in offering a pillow menu? (True story, Mr. Jenner and I once stayed at this place that had a pillow menu. Hand to God. I can't make up anything that good.) I need to make my uterus more like a Motel 8 on the side of a crappy high-way with hookers in the parking lot and a broken ice machine. This metaphor is going to weird weird places.
Aaaaaaaaaand now my kid has taken out his lego and is filling all of my pots/pans with lego. This is going to be some meal.
