I am unique, just like everyone else:
Yesterday as I dropped the kid at school, I noticed that I was in line with the exact same car as mine in front of me AND behind me. Color, make, model. Everything. In my vision of myself, I am totally not an SUV driving suburban soccer mom, but in reality… Sigh. Shut up.
At least I don’t have stupid Disney crap on my truck, I think rebelliously, as I note the Tinkerbell sticker with the phrase “If you are going to ride my ass, at least pull my hair” stenciled next to it adorning the back window of the clone-car in front of me.
Oh wait. My trailer hitch is Jack. From Nightmare Before Christmas. Done by Disney.
But still. I’m not one of them, right? I only got my SUV because I am about to have more kids than I could fit in anything without a 3rd row. And if I could afford it, I’d totally have a Hybrid SUV. I am so not a suburban soccer mom. Right?
Crap, that reminds me, I have to get the kid a new ball for soccer, which starts next week.
Sometimes when people ask “How are you” they really don’t mean “How effaced is your cervix?”
This occurred to me after a spontaneous courtesy phone call from my insurance company’s pregnancy nurse. She basically just called to let me know that my hospital does have a level 3 NICU but ended up hearing about 10 minutes too much of my crazy pregnancy fears, and way too many details involving my cervix. Sorry, random lady.
But… It’s hard not to start telling random people things they don’t want to know about your cervix when you are pregnant. (Right, I’m not the only one, right?) It’s just that, while the world is still going on its merry way for everyone else, when you are pregnant, you are, you know, growing a person, and its hard not to think about it every five seconds. Yep. Even during the more intimate moments of life, because, hello, there’s something moving in there. I mean, something else. Perverts.
Perhaps I am just crazy and should shut up already.
The cat ate my bath towel.
I woke up this morning and my towel was gone and there was cat barf all over the house. So one can only conclude that either the cat ate it, or used it to clean up her barf from her night of binge drinking. Hey, that last one would explain why there was also an empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter.
Or, my husband has some serious explaining to do. Poor cat.