You might think a post like this would feature some lofty and brag-worthy recent feats. Mom of the Year. The quarterly Most-Functional-Despite-Least-Hours-of-Sleep award. Sexiest Woman Alive.
All in due time.
Instead, my recent accomplishments have been a little, shall we say, subdued. Behold my first feat of skill and daring:
Yes, that is my wedding ring in a bowl foregrounded by my swollen, sausagey finger (aka: the reason why I’m postponing acceptance of my Sexiest Woman Alive award until next year). The last time I was pregnant I couldn’t get my ring off, so I figured that this time I would be proactive and remove it early, before I cut off all circulation to my finger. While I still could. Unfortunately, I happen to be a wimp. Despite using:
- 1. Dish soap
- 2. Windex
- 3. Dental floss
It still hurt too much. Finally, while watching The Bachelor, I was filled with a sudden sense of courage. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones and how they make me want to become deeply invested in shows like The Bachelor. Anyway, I gave my outstretched finger to Chris, squinched up my eyes and nose, looked away, and whispered, “Just PULL.”
And it worked!
Onward to bigger and better things. Witness Exhibit 2:
This is the bread that I wish I had baked. The actual loaf I baked was too embarrassing to photograph because I somehow picked the wrong setting on the bread machine and it turned out looking like a lumpy, fossilized elephant turd. The featured loaf of bread, on the other hand was technically baked by Chris. However, I am claiming this as my own accomplishment because I
(1) measured the ingredients, and everyone knows that measurement is key to success in baking; and
(2) I did that despite my previous baking catastrophe, and everyone knows that success in life comes from picking yourself up after falling down, or some inspirational quote like that. Mwaha.
And, finally, Exhibit 3:
Those of you in my Facebook entourage may have observed that I recently took Conor to a comic book store with Chris and some friends. In theory this seemed like a good idea. In practice I realized it meant coming up with Macguyver-like methods for preventing Conor from grabbing and ripping to shreds every comic in sight. And let me tell you, there were a lot of comics in sight.
I am pleased to report unprecedented success due to the following strategies:
- 1. Outfitting Conor in giant puffy mittens
- 2. Directing Conor to action figures safely encased in plastic
- 3. Encouraging Conor to climb under and around the furniture
- 4. Using the phrase “Go find Dada” repeatedly and often
I hearby award myself the title of Wrangler Extraordinaire.