Pregnant brain.

Someone I know, ahem, who just happens to be seven months pregnant, told me this story the other day.

She’d made supper, mixing cheese in with meat, and announced to her family that supper was moments away. Just waiting for the cheese to melt.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Finally, the husband of my dear sister friend checked the cheese package. It read something quite similar to this:

‘Hash browns.’

Chalk it up to pregnant brain. To three – and almost four – kids three and under. Or something.