Loki is a little protective of the new chair. Me too.
☛ "Mother Blaming" Is Bad Journalism, Shaky Science
I may be unreasonably grumpy about the lightly colored new floors, but the view from our new bedroom out to the deck is pretty great. Last day of construction tomorrow.
"What strikes me about these societal mandates around pregnancy is how little they have to do with improving women’s health."
The actual Nature article is great; this was a good summation that’s a little easier to digest.
(Not that I’m able to digest thanks to pregnancy.)
The old hardwood floors look gorgeous. Let’s not talk about the new ones.
I like my kids how I like my bread.
She’s coming around to the big sister idea.
Which is good because my uterus wants this baby OUT. Calm your tits, womb. It’s not time yet.
It should be a surprise to no one, least of all me, that I have an irritable uterus. It fits.
I’ve been couched until the contractions simmer down which is interesting when you’re trying to take care of two hyper kids.
They’re going to be 2 years old in a month. That just blows my mind. They’re smart. They’re funny. And they are a fucking handful.
I want my 2nd floor back.
Sitting on the couch is boring.
This happened yesterday and it was adorable.
The floors are being refinished this week. I cannot be in the house at all because of the baby. Everything is crazy with timing and babies and visitors and doctors appointments and I am one moment away from complete meltdown at all times.
Someone asked if I was going to have to “keep trying” if this baby is another girl. Why do people assume you will never lead a fulfilled life if you don’t have one child of each gender. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t matter what bits this thing has, the inn-cubator is closed.
It’s electric. Boogie woogie and so-forth.