Thursday surprise: like meatloaf surprise, but better
• Rosie has expressed interest in getting a “shortcut,” i.e. a haircut of dramatic proportions. If this idea sticks (i.e. she asks for it again and it’s not just passing fancy), I will go for it. However, I will need someone to hold me.
• Speaking of hair, mine is going downhill fast. I can barely see from underneath my shag-bangs, and the length is approaching Rapunzel-like proportions. Max routinely waves around fistfuls of my locks like tiny flags. Grody, I say. It sounds like it might be time for a mother-daughter salon visit. (I will still need someone to hold me.)
• Excuse me while I talk about my boobs for a minute. WAIT NO COME BACK WHERE ARE YOU GOING. I feel like I spend more time with my pump than I do some of my regular acquaintances. We go sequester ourselves in a tiny closet and do our thing three times a day during the work week, and to use a really bad pun, it sucks. So I thought naming him (her?) would make it better, you know, so I can say “I must go meet Esteban in the closet for our time together.” I’m still in the development stages on that. I’ll get back to you on the name choice. I know you’re on the edge of your seat.
• Day three of Max-in-daycare and cloth diapering seems to be humming along just fine, thanks for asking. (Of course you asked, how thoughtful of you.) However, one thing I did not consider about this whole operation is that by deciding to use cloth diapers, we were agreeing to receive a bag filled with our child’s excrement at the end of every single day until the end of time slash whenever he is finally potty trained. Mmm, afternoon delight! (Whatever, my baby’s everything smells of roses.)
• I am still totally obsessed with Instagram and cannot imagine my infatuation will wane any time soon. This is my current favorite picture:
Because come on. Come ON.
• My birthday is Saturday. I’m one of those obnoxious people who likes to celebrate themselves being born and get all HEY IT’S MY BIRTHDAY! to the mailman and whatnot. I’m kind of surprised my fervor has lasted until age 34, but there you go. BEING BORN FTW!