At 8 months of age, Spawnling has turned into a crotchety old bugger. I think he needs to spend some time with Glaring Hobble Man because they seem have a lot in common: they don't appreciate my actions and they let me know it in no uncertain terms. Furthermore, I think GHM could teach Spawnmeister a few things about subtlety. The little guy seems to think the answer is to scream his adorable little lungs out. A glare is just as effective and far less effort, sweetcakes. Disgruntled old guys have mastered that technique.
I love my gremlins, but why must they be so loud? Can't they see that mommy is frazzled? Don't they care?
The worst part is that - just when mommy needs to eat her feelings at 11:30pm - she finds out that the last two ice cream cones she stashed away in the back of the freezer have disappeared into greedy little paws earlier this evening while she was away.
Eating a box raisins may be healthier, but not quite as satisfying.
So I'm watching a pregnancy and birth show on Discovery Health at the moment and I have to say it is giving me absolutely no inclination to add another member to the family.
This must be related to the lack of ice cream. Deprivation of sweets by children is apparently a wonderful form of birth control. Who knew? Also, both lack of sweets and lack of pregnancy are good ways to lose weight. This could work out nicely for The Maven, minus the feeling grumpy and slightly resentful parts.
Fall-out Girl and Mrs. Wailing were just over for a view of the new royal palace and some java. We were discussing 'feeling done' and I was sitting on the fence on the issue. I was straddling the line feeling slightly sore in the crotch area; not wanting another, but not wanting to permanently close the door on the idea, either. After all, it hasn't exactly been simple for us to have children. Three in a decade isn't a great track record. I scored a C- in Fertility 101. It just seems... weird... to decide to be done. Who gets to decide these things anyway?
And on the other hand, I'm picking my jaw up off the keyboard right now after watching the story of one couple on this show. They have three children under five, the eldest has special needs and nearly died twice. They also foster three teenagers.
Oh, and she's eight months pregnant.
It's called "shopping", people. It's a great way to kill some time. Not quite as orgasmic as your current hobby but slightly less time consuming. This grand idea is my gift to you.
See? Who says I don't like to help people?
Funny... I'm still not ready for Geekster to get that vasectomy even after that. I'm a glutton for punishment.
And ice cream. Or stupid raisins.