The American Self Sabotage: See Ad running to the right of this blog. For the past few days I've watched this "Pregnancy Pact" advertisement run alongside my blog. If it's still running, you have got to skim it. What are these people doing to us????
A bunch of hot teenagers with pregger bumps. Like this won't influence any teens into the notion of motherhood. Because if you have a bump like this, you'll get to drive a convertible BMW and carry a Gucci diaper bag. Put it on Showtime and anything's cool. These networks air these phenomenons as though it wasn't their idea, they're just doing the public a favor by making it public. They feel like people should know about these things. Because sensationalism just isn't how they roll. WTF?!


Enough With The Bodily Fluids Already

It was 10:30 and all was dark and quiet in our sleepy household. The silence was broken with retching sounds from Shelby's bed, and then the clear splat of lunch and dinner hitting all things unclean able. I found myself scraping hot dogs off the wall and lugging out loads of sheets to the front porch. I'll save the rest of the details for some other time. You get my point.
The following morning was hosing and spraying and bleaching and scrubbing and staying home all day without school.
We had two good days after this, routine resumed, life was peachy. Then Thursday morning brought the littlest one with the biggest vomit. All over the sofa. What followed was three days of intense grey poupon (a telling title).
Yesterday we were normal! I swear. Happy, eating, sleeping, even limited diaper changes. Blissful regularity.
Then somehow John and I simultaneously clogged our toilet so I spent my evening, because he swore it was MY fault, plunging the nastiness. Just when things were looking up the toilet overflowed. BleauchghhhH!! Sopping up sewage at the end of an already disastrous week.
The fun could only continue. I spent the better portion from midnight to 3 am yakking my brains out. Apparently I got the bug, too. And now I'm laid up at home feeling sorry for myself, sipping Gatorade and clutching my stomach.
Enough with the bodily fluids already.