So I suppose I should be flattered. Really, I should be. To think that someone would think so highly of my boobs at this stage in my life that they would require at least one to be IN their mouth in order to make it through half the day and most of the night.
She responds to pacifiers like my other kids - basically like me stuffing a pool noodle in her mouth. And while I'm quite handed in completing various tasks with an occupied boob, I need a little space. My boobages need some rest and recovery time.
And considering Quinlan drew me with a baby growth hanging off my chest, I think I need another option that does not make me look like some alien life form to my other children.
[Note from Editor's boobs: She is currently swaddled and sleeping in the car seat after being rocked vigorously without either of us in her mouth.]
[Editor's Boobs Update: That swaddle car seat thing lasted two minutes, so she was back on us until she fell asleep and then was rocked and then placed on the bed.]
I suppose it's a little bold to send gigantic magnetic birth announcements. It's sort of like when the March of Dimes sends out the address labels with the little dime. It actually does guilt people into sending money. I did it with my master's thesis, except I was determined to get survey responses and sent a buck.
Thank you student loans.
So what terrible horrible no good very bad person is going to throw away a 5 x 7 magnet of my beautiful daughter? So I think it's a fantastic, and dare I say, eco-friendly concept that's not too hard on the wallet. Plus, I love bullying my way onto someone's refrigerator.
And besides, what exactly do you do with birth announcements (except throw them away... ahem)? You put them on your fridge of course.
After a day full of wiping sore behinds, holding heads over bowls of many shapes and sizes, and responding to text requests from my quarantined husband for "icy h2o pls," I put Margot to bed and crashed right next to her to the drone of the television at around 9pm.
The explosions, gags, and sickly moans have taken over the house for what I hope is only a few more days at most. But more disturbing and a little depressing is the odd silence. No children singing, chattering, or even fighting. Nothing to block out the dogs barking and begging to be let out, the washing machine and dryer working overtime, and the baby screaming to be picked up.
And no laughing. Even to my one woman circus side show saved only for these such occasions.
We're celebrating this fine Veteran's Day with puke apparently. That's right. We vomit in honor of your service to our country, dear Vets. At least, that's the only way I can continue to clean up some barf from at least two of my family members without vomiting myself.
Although, I'm pretty sure that'll be coming soon enough.