Ellie, helping us decorate eggs on Easter morning. (Actually, that’s only half true. She was very upset I put the stickers on the egg, and was doing everything in her power to take them off. In her eyes, stickers are only to be used on surfaces where I will later spend several hours scraping them off with a butter knife. Like the floor. Ahh, life with a two-year-old.)
Note the untamable cascade of hair I’ve come to refer to as “The Mane.” Miss Ellie’s hair is a wild combination of my natural waves and Tim’s curls, making for an unruly explosion of blonde atop her sweet head. I’ve yet to work up the nerve to cut it, so this is what we wake up to each morning:
Thankfully Tim has somewhat mastered the art of putting in pigtails, making up for the fact that my girly-girl gene is defective. It took years before I successfully figured out how to put a ponytail in my own hair, let alone for a small child who wants nothing to do with sitting still for the ten minutes it would take me to figure it out. And don’t even get me started on braids. A public apology to my daughter(s): Make friends with the girls who know how to do the hair and makeup thing, because your mama will be useless in this regard. Now, if you need someone to build you a kick-ass website or take a fantastic senior portrait, we can talk.
Random pregnancy complaint: Am I carrying this baby in my ASS? I am normally well-endowed in the junk-in-the-trunk department as it is, but I caught a glimpse of my profile in the mirror the other day and did a double-take. My butt has a bigger bump than my stomach. Ridiculous.
And while I’m on the subject of “all the ways my body betrays me during pregnancy,” is it too much to ask to go more than half an hour without needing to pee? There’s a well-worn path in the carpet between my office and the ladies’ room. I should just set up my desk in the toilet stall and call it good. With all the extra water I’m drinking, you’d think my skin would be pristine, but no. This morning I woke up to a small pepperoni pizza in the middle of my forehead. Gross.
Ahh, the bitching. We’re on day eleventy-billion of rain, rain, clouds and more rain. This solar-powered preggo is a wee bit grumpy!