…hunkered down next to my space heater, watching Wife Swap reruns, for the rest of the day.
Ben says I have a “bad cold”. I say the concrete in my sinuses, and the anvil wedged into my forehead, are my comuppins for filling our “premium only” truck with regular grade gas. The universe is punishing me for my automobile trespasses. Either that, or it’s the result of spending the last week wiping Whitney’s runny nose.
Anyway, I’ll see what kind of affliction the universe spanks me with after I spend the afternoon watching three straight episodes of Wife Swap, followed-up with a Maury Povich classic – “Who’s You’re Daddy?”.
Heidi and I snuck in a quick shower after my Dad left this morning. I say snuck because we’re not supposed to be running the water until the well-tank is replaced. I won’t go into the salacious, riveting details surrounding the well-tank issue, except that there’s a well-tank and a float-thingy, and they have a problem. Trust me, discussing this subject in any further detail would be as pleasant as receiving a noogie administered by a girl, like me, who’s observed the no-running-the-water-or-shower-rule for the past four days. It’ RIPE here people!
Now it’s my understanding that running the water won’t actually damage the well-pump. However, if my Dad caught wind that we took showers this morning, his brain matter might come shooting out of his ears with such velocity that we’d need to clean-up the mess with soap and a bucket of water. Thus requiring we buy more bottled water. So let’s just keep it between you, me and the entire Internet. M’kay? Hear that Jordan? – you never read this post.
After our illicit showers, we toweled-off and Heidi made a beeline for her castle. Ben went to look for something to put her in since we’d forgotten to take care of this little detail before the shower, just as we always forget to find clothes for the girls before all the other thousands of prior showers. And each time we look at each other and are…Did YOU forget the clothes again? EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. We also enjoy, repeatedly, knocking our heads against the concrete basement walls.
Before we get to what we’re going to get to today, I just need to say WOW. That, and WOW again. You clicked BuenoBaby to number twenty-six!!! on Babble’s 2009 Top Mommy Blogger list! SQUEEEEL!!! Thank you for your votes and thank you for continuing to vote. I don’t know what else to say except if you ever need anything, say like help changing a tire or a Saturday night babysitter, well…I could probably do a Google search and point you to someone who does those things.
Because You. Are. That. AWESOME.
I wish you were here with me now so I could give you a big awkward hug, but since you’re not, I’m sending you an Internet hug…HUGS! You did make me feel all velvety inside.
O.K., now on with the business of over-sharing. Since I assume you stopped by today to read about things like Whitney’s raw upper-lip (caused by an endless river of snot this weekend), or how I was so high on post-delivery narcotics that I forgot to poop for eight days and had to go to the emergency room, I‘ll get right down to it.
Four years ago today, over my OB’s lunch hour, I delivered Whitney. I’m not going to tell you it was a hard labor, or that I threw beverages or small pieces of furniture at Ben. And I didn’t scream like a boiling lobster as I had, eight years earlier, during my natural childbirth with our first daughter, Lexi.
No, this time around, I had a scheduled induction, and a pain-free four hour labor, wrapped-up with only three minutes of pushing. My pelvis was so numb you could have stuck me in the hip with a hospital fork and I would’ve probably just asked whether or not you knew how long the cafeteria served lunch.
Oooh, wait, there’s a but. And a butt. And a latex glove.
