Many random things. I'm having trouble pulling it all together into a cohesive post.
I explained Halloween to Cleo and asked her what she wanted to be. She said, "I want to be a hat," so i'm hoping she'll elaborate further. Otherwise, maybe I can find one of those enormous foam cowboy hats and cut some eye holes in it.
We went to PetSmart yesterday to run around and see new things, and my child seemed more interested in bird food and dog toys shaped like sports balls than in birds, snakes, or rodents. As a kind employee held up a gorgeous little baby ball python for Cleo's inspection and I rambled on about how amazing snakes were, Cleo was extremely disinterested and focused on a broken light in the ceiling. Sigh. One day, she'll like *something* that I like.
You know you're pregnant when mopping the floor feels like a major accomplishment.
I think that Ben Gibbard should be tied to a pine tree and have Transatlanticism discs hurled at him with a t-shirt cannon so he'll remember what genius sounds like and quit producing shoddy tripe.
And Rivers Cuomo should be forced to watch Ben Gibbard undergoing this treatment while being forced to listen to a looping recording of Gilbert Goddfried screaming, "IT'S NOT A WEEZER SONG IF YOU DON'T SING IT, DINGLEBERRY!"
I'm wearing a hideous teal-green maternity shirt that makes me feel unattractive but actually covers my belly, which reminds me of all the bizarre sacrifices we make for our children. Whenever baby Shmoo is sassing me at age 11, I will show him a picture of me, 26 weeks pregnant in a hideous zebra shirt, glasses, and wet hair, covered in sweat while I spend naptime mopping the floor and talking to telemarketers on the phone, and I will say, "See? I *do* really love you!"
That's all i've got. Besides more mopping to do.