Heya

1. The dog peed on the bedroom carpet again
2. We had spaghetti for dinner last night
3. I switched out my maternity clothes yesterday, and am discovering that it may have been a premature move . . . (I looked at myself in the mirror and began singing softly, a la Chris Farley, "fat girl in a little shirt, faaaat giiiiirrrl in a little shirrrrrttt . . .")

And so on.

I then tried to think of some cool life story from my past that I could share.  But, and I think I *might* have mentioned this previously, sleep deprivation is making me stupid and forgetful.  I can remember my old, carefree, younger days (sighs, wipes a nostalgic tear), but I can’t formulate a post about them.  It’s just too hard, and besides I have like three minutes between feedings to churn these bad boys out.  Old-carefree-younger-days stories require much thought and revision, so we’ll save them for when I’m back at work and bored. 

Meantime, I’ll just ramble on at ya while I have three minutes to spare.  By the way, in case you haven’t noticed, I have not posted the exhaustive and nasty details labor story.  In thinking about it, I decided that any essay that contains so many references to mucus (and other bodily fluids) should perhaps be kept to myself.  I would warn you not to read it, I would explain to you in a header that it contained unattractive details, but I’m guessing you wouldn’t be able to help yourselves, and then you would have some mental images that perhaps you preferred not to have.  So, I’m typing it out for my own self, and I’m ok with the fact that I’m probably the only person who will ever read it.  Much as I like to think that my son will one day care to know just EXACTLY how his entrance on the Carolina scene went, minute by minute – well, I’m sleep deprived, but not yet delusional.

We are going to visit Patrick’s family over Memorial Day weekend.  We are going camping, except the beab and I will not spend the night at the campsite – we have a 2 person backpacking tent and that’s it, and I don’t fancy getting up three times in the night to feed the baby in the pitch black dark in a tent that I can’t sit up in, WITH an overeager dog "helping" me out.  Patrick and Virge can share the tent – Jack and I are driving the ten minutes back to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, where there are lights and a bed and tv to keep me company through the long dark nights.  A family-sized tent is definitely on our Christmas list this year.

Wow, I’m boring even myself at this point.  Next time, I’ll write a post about nights with Jack, which are frustrating and lovely all at once.  I’ll endeavor to be eloquent and interesting.