* because I woke up super early, mostly in a panic that my intended-for-humor comment on a friend’s blog might have been misunderstood. I don’t know why it took me 24 hours post-comment to realize that my solution to her morning sickness (especially the nausea she feels at the scent of her toddler’s hair) could be offensive, questionable, and insensitive. At the time, I thought that shaving her toddler’s hair would be a perfectly acceptable and humorous suggestion. After all, I reasoned, the little girl would fit in with other bald toddlers and would save her mother tons of money in de-tangle spray. (Besides, I couldn’t add one more comment about saltines to her list.) Nevertheless, I promptly deleted my comment upon waking.
* because I mutilated a friend’s amazing offer to watch Vivienne tomorrow by asking if she’d vacuum my basement instead. Nothing could make me so shamelessly obsessed with my unvacuumed basement as the midwife who told me that I can’t vacuum carpets for the time being. (Don’t worry, I called my friend and took back my vacuum-request.)
* because both V and I are trying to stop biting our nails, but when she woke up from her nap, Viv confessed, “I was nibbling my nails just like a bunny!” (Which just made me worry that she is hanging out with nail-nibbling bunnies, which we all know are up to no good.)
* because the sign at WalMart reading “38 cents” on the barrel of massive gourds meant “38 cents per pound,” which I did not find out until I lugged four of the toddler-sized squash to the register. “Oh,” I mumbled… “I thought it was too good to be true.” So much for $1.52 mantel decoration. (And so much for not lifting toddlers these days.)
* because when we were driving home from WalMart, V’s voice broke through my daze, “Are you biting your nails, Mommy?!”
* because Vivienne is going through a “dance your pants off” stage (for real) and we just happened to have gone to Baby’s (a 60’s diner) for dinner. The juke-box music inspired her greatly and she was shake, rattle, and rolling through the entire meal… including the post-dinner Bazooka bubble gum course. When the restaurant was suddenly transforming into her personal playground, it was time to leave. Just as we were preparing to leave, V decided to run — shriekingly — to the opposite side of the restaurant, which really is out of character but was disastrous nonetheless. As I firmly — but *ever-so-lovingly* — took hold of V’s arm, I looked at the waitress and mumbled, “I can’t believe that the child doing that is mine…”
* because when I took Viv to the Baby’s bathroom and asked, “What has gotten into you?” She sparkled up at me, “BUBBLEGUM!”