Right Track, Wrong Train

Remember the 90's? Remember baggy clothes, overalls, hypercolour, and the Humpty Dumpty Dance? I'll give you a moment to hang your head in shame. In the meantime, how about a little freestyle?

Word.

Finding Out You've Been Found Out

I bought a new wallet the other day. It's a very grown up kind of wallet. Over the years I've wanted my wallets to be small and efficient, and I have chosen plain designs with practical compartments. But something always held me back from picking up any of the longer, more elegant looking wallets. Perhaps I found them intimidating. Perhaps I was afraid they would steal my soul and reclaim my youth. Regardless, I've overcome my fears and have now officially entered the adult world! I'm very proud of my new wallet, and I've been taking every opportunity to share my pleasure with those around me. Here are a few examples:

---> Me at the grocery store:
Cashier: That'll be $15.39
Me: Hang on. Let me get my GROWN UP WALLET out!!
Cashier: Whaaa?

---> Me at the ice cream shop:
Cashier: Here's your change.
Me: Wonderful! I'll put it in my GROWN UP WALLET!!
Cashier: Huh?
Me: Can you hold my ice cream for a minute? I think my GROWN UP WALLET is stuck in my very mature-looking purse.

---> Me at the library:
Librarian: Do you have your library card?
Me: You bet! It's right here in my super awesome GROWN UP WALLET!!
Librarian: ?

If You Want to Go You Go

Has anyone else noticed that Pine-Sol smells like vomit? Or is it that vomit smells suspiciously like Pine-Sol? Or could it be that people have been using Pine-Sol to clean up vomit for so many years that the two smells are indistinguishable in my mind? Either way, it needs to be banished from the world of cleaning products.

My Contribution to the Field

I'm taking a short break from packing. This is more for Rosie's benefit than mine. The apartment is full of boxes, things are being moved and tossed about, music is blaring. Rosie is insisting on Valium.

On a side note, my son is a kleptomaniac. My doctor informed me today that my adorable, sweet, unassuming, unborn baby boy is hogging all the iron in my body. My levels have dropped precariously low over the past few months, so it's time to up the supplements. Again. It's kind of reassuring to know that the room ISN'T actually spinning, and the world ISN'T tilting beneath my feet.

One more hour of packing, then I'll call it a night. I need to keep reminding myself not to work too hard or I might wind up passed out in the closet, buried beneath a pile of shoes. And we all know that as soon as that happens, Rosie will be on the phone with her dealer trying to get her paws on a little Smack.

We Had to Dance a Foot Apart

Dear Chapman's Yogurt Plus Dark Chocolate Rapture,

I LOVE YOU!

Sincerely,
Chantel

Where Rubber Meets The Road

The great thing about being exhausted is that it doesn't take long for delirium to set in. And once THAT happens, the world becomes a much more interesting place to be.

When I arrived at the Doctor's office today there were hardly any other patients waiting, so I was called into the exam room almost immediately. However, my gratitude for their efficiency slowly drained away as the minutes ticked by. To pass the time, I chatted with the only other person in the room (who was, and still is, snuggled comfortably in my belly).

Baby: Kick, Kick, Kick (How much longer, Mom?)
Me: A few more minutes.
Baby: Kick, Nudge, Nudge, Kick (Can I have some chocolate milk?)
Me: Later.
Baby: Nudge, Kick, Kick, Nudge (Are we done yet?)
Me: No.
Baby: Kick, Kick, Kick, Nudge (Can we get a dog?)
Me: No.
Baby: Kick, Kick, Kick? (How much longer????)
Me: A few more minutes.
Baby: KICK, NUDGE, KICK, NUDGE (I'M HUNGRY, DAMMIT!!!)
Me: ....
Baby: Kick (Mom?)
Me: ....
Baby: KICK (MOM?)
Me: ....
Baby: Kick, nudge, nudge, kick, kick, nudge (Mom, are you sleeping again??)

Not A Significant Source of Vitamin C

Rosie is in the recycling box, eating cardboard. I'm tempted to join her, except that I don't have pica - yet. Some doctors believe that there is a link between low iron in pregnancy and the development of pica (an abnormal craving for substances that are not fit to eat, such as chalk or clay). Given my predisposition to dramatic speculation, I assume that it's only a matter of time before I develop this.

Me: I'm hungry. Again.
You: Let me grab my keys and we'll head out for lunch. Wait. Where are my keys?
Me: ...
You: Seriously???
Me: Do you have any crayons?