Words: gobble gobble
Caffeine: morning cup
Evil Calories: pre-dinner donut last night
Reality TV: suspended due to NaNoWriMo
a) Happy Thanksgiving a few days early, dear friends, even though some of you already celebrated your giving of thanks back in October. For what it's worth, I give you full permission to eat massive amounts of mashed potatoes and pie this week.
b) I am officially reverting back to my teenage years. I am this close to dying my hair black, digging out my old Doc Martins and listening to The Cure incessantly. See, when my parents come to visit, they don't do anything. They just sit in my living room all day. All day. My dad sits whistling or blowing his nose or clearing his throat or tapping his foot or making those "choo-choo-choo" sounds, or doing a combo of some or all of those things at once, and my mom sits and reads, sneezes forty times in a row, and does this weird head shake/nod thing that makes me want to tear my own arm off and beat myself to death with it.
See? Teenage angst.
But see the nice thing about being an adult with teenage angst is sometimes you get married and then have someone else to validate said angst. Things pretty much all came together for my husband once he met my parental units. "Oh, so this is why you're so weird! They broke your brain! I get it!"
Lucky for us, we get to spend 8 hours in the car with them tomorrow. Oh, happy day!
c) Speaking of tomorrow...three years ago around this time, I was huge. HUGE. I was the most pregnant woman in the history of time. I was a week late, busting out of my maternity clothes, and was seriously considering changing my name to either Fatty McButterPants or "Damn! How many you got in there?" (which is what I heard about eleventy billion times in the three weeks leading up to my son's birth).
And then I woke up the day after Thanksgiving to a small twinge in my belly, which, by 11:00pm that night, turning into a large twinge, similar to the large twinge you would feel if you were trying to shit an oven (I'm just guessing here). Nineteen hours later (oh, yes, it was a doozy), I had this:
He was, and is, so many different kinds of awesome. He'll be three years old tomorrow, so happy birthday, my little baby boy. You will always be my greatest masterpiece.