All I'm saying is...

If this woman didn't get stretch marks, I am going to be way pissed at the pregnancy gods.

Other stuff that sticks out to me in the blogosphere:

Hotslings! At Target! This is like my dream coupling, y'all.  Babywearing for the masses -- it would only be better if I could still charge it on my Marshall Field's credit card.

Who is Baby Alien's real Baby Daddy? You decide. And don't go saying "Tom Cruise" with your big old doe-eyes and faux-naive half-smile because that game is so tired.

BadBadIvy wants to come to see me, not my cluttery apartment full of sure-to-be recalled toys and shoes that cause blisters. While we're chatting and eating chips and salsa, I hope she doesn't mind sorting through that pile of old bills and shining my sink.*

Susan, on the other hand, wants me to see the floor of my closet (MIA for at least three years now...gulp). So, darling friends of organizational tendencies, I am coming to join your club. I swear it (at least I've sworn it to my therapist, which is tantamount to putting my palm atop a Bible). I am following Susan's suggestions and if it still looks like Hurricane Dean on the sandy beaches of my bedroom, I will lay all the blame on my bloggy grrrlfriend.**

Lil E and I need the shirts that Sarah and some of the Goon Squad are sporting all over DC. Bruce would like to have one, I'm sure, but he's all out-numbered and what-not now that I have very specific ways I think sippy cups should be put together on the shelf and that Lil E's taken to yelling out things like, "DADDAYYY! You be my caddy!" and "DADDAYYY! I need more juice! And water! And a snack! And a treat! And to watch Bob the Builder first then Caillou second! DADDAYYY! Where I you? I need stuff!"  Sigh. Little chip off the ol' bossy block.

P.S. Aren't Sarah and Claudia the cutest evah?

*It is a total bummer but BBI's not actually making her way from the Nash to the Chi, but I do wish she would. I have a feeling we mamas would tear. it. up. Y'all.

** Susan surely doesn't give a grommeted belt about my closet. She's too deep in her Old Navyness. But I know if I told her in person that I was following her closet cleaning instructions, she'd put her arm on my shoulder and let out a boisterous "Praise Jesus!" And that would be enough. Really, it would.

Comments

[Ivy]

Oooh, that's the next roadtrip I need to make for sure. Chicago, here I come, bitches!