Our fetus-son is rolling and kicking like a soccer player in a hamster ball. I wonder if he'll come early. If he's early as in 2010-early, then we'll get a sweet tax break, although it'll probably be a wash with all the incubator fees.
I have a feeling that last sentence will cost me some husband points.
Lyla and Tulip are in a fight right now. Tulip was on the couch while Lyla was on the couch, which caused Lyla to throw a six-minute shit fit. Then she pushed Tulip's face, which earned her a stint in timeout.
"Lyla, come here and say you're sorry to Tulip."
"Sowwy Tuwwip."
"Pat-pat Tulip."
Halfhearted pat-patting ensued. Then I got a whiff of Tulip's carcass-of-yak breath and suppressed the urge to shove her face myself.
"Nice pat-pat, Lyla. We're friendly to Tulip, even though her breath smells like yak carcass."
"Yeah."
"Your brother--"
"Baby bruddow."
"Yes. Your baby brother--"
"Mama baby bebby."
"Yes, Mama has a baby in her belly. You'll need to be friendly to him just like Tulip."
Just then Tulip pressed her nose to Lyla's finger. "No Tu-wip! NOOO! WAAAAH!"
Sigh.
No comments:
Post a Comment