That's Hott

Sometime between your first date and the fourth year of marriage, you go from spending hours selecting your outfit, fixing your hair, and asking the honest opinion of every girl on the hall of your dorm to spending the weekend lying around in baggy polar bear pajama pants and oversized t-shirts begging for a piece of peanut butter toast and some water because you have The Cold (Some of us may have also passed through an equally sexy period in which you ask your husband if a shirt of his is clean or dirty before using it as a convenient handkerchief for a snotty toddler, not that the answer is particularly important).

Some of the things I've done this weekend that almost guarantee we will not be having any more children include:

1. Dragging Ryan out of bed at 7:30 because "I FEEL GREAT! LET'S GO GET DONUTS AND TAKE CHARLIE TO THE PLAYGROUND RIGHT NOW!!!"

1a. Returning to the house an hour and a half later (after a really nice time at the park) like "GOSH will you put Charlie down for a nap? I feel like CRAP!" then taking a very very long shower while he dealt with Charlie, Kicker of Cribs, Resister of Naps.

2. Shuffling around in my pajamas like on of the Golden Girls muttering "It huuuurrrtts. How can my back possibly hurt this bad? There's no way it felt like this with Charlie. I will never make it to forty weeks at this rate." Repeating the same complaint at least four times today.

3. I don't know this for sure but given my current level of congestion I would imagine I am quite noisy and disgusting at night.

4. Decided that there is no way a cold could make me feel this bad, concluded that I must have some scary virus that will cause irreparable harm to Bravo, convinced Ryan to "check for little white dots" in my throat as I hung my head over the arm of the couch with my mouth open to catch the light of the floor lamp.

I told him that the good news is that after Bravo is born my new goal is to look like the women at the pool, you know, after the whole leaky boob and squishy tummy thing goes away.

To combat all the disgusting here's a picture of Charlie rolling down the slide this morning after his shoes caught on the plastic at the turn. He thought it was great fun but it scared the heck out of me).