Today while I was in the shower Pierce tried to reheat leftover pancakes. He was told to heat them for 20 seconds. I think he typed in a few extra zeroes.
The whole house still smells like smoke. The pancake was black. The plate clearly didn’t survive.
Then a dear unnamed child was apparently bored enough to decide to suck on said child’s own arm. My children now know what happens when such foolishness occurs. The bruise is impressive.
Then Ellie threw a pretzel in the toilet. Another dear child feared a pretzel is more than the toilet can handle (Because why?! I remain confused at such reasoning.) and fished out the pretzel. With. my. kitchen. tongs. I remain skeptical that bleach is enough. I was going to throw them out, but Blaine seems to think bleach is adequate. I’m not sure it’s adequate to keep my stomach in check should I ever use said tongs on food. I just… can’t.
Then, contractions hit. Fast. Nausea hit. Hard. I got excited. Texted a friend to be sure I have childcare tonight. They stopped. Of course. Here I sit, sipping red raspberry leaf tea and hoping tomorrow is a better day. Or that I get to meet this baby tomorrow. A few days in the hospital, postpartum, sound like practically a mini vacation. Blaine, to be off of work and home alone with seven children prone to dipping kitchen utensils into toilets, trying to start fires in microwaves, and other craziness, without me, is definitely looking forward to those days. To be sure.