I Have a Problem

A disease, really. It's called pregnancy.

Tonight I went to the store and came home with a giant bag of baby clothes (which I got for free) and 6 tubs of ice cream, which were $.17 each. Ben was less than impressed. I guess he thought I had real errands to run. I don't know why he'd complain to have his freezer stocked full of ice cream anyways.

I also forget things a lot. And have constant heartburn. Uhg. Only 17 weeks left. Make that 16, my doc already gave me the go ahead to induce at 39 weeks. I'll take 7 days of not being pregnant, thank-you. Also this kid is already making my belly jiggle, so I'm worried he might break a rib later. At least I know he's a healthy little guy, and he'd better come out knowing how to stand up for himself with Kennady for a big sister.

I'm pretty sure Kennady must be 13, at least on the inside. The other day Ben was getting on to her for jumping off the couch (and landing on me), and she turned around and said, "Don't judge me." I laughed so hard I nearly wet myself, which I suppose isn't much of a feat considering my disease. The things that kid says. She's also started lying. She'll come in and say "I went potty, I want a treat." When I know she didn't go potty. Or when I ask her what's in her mouth (a binky- which she stashes and then grabs later, even though she knows they are only for bedtime) she says, "Fruit snacks." Or how when we put her to bed, she starts yelling, "I have to go potty!"

Alright, now it is bed time.