Just back from two terrifying days during which I couldn't comment on blogs or check my email unless I walked up a giant hill to the complex's business center. I walked up the hill exactly once (and sat at a computer next to a guy who was Googling a slightly scary psychological condition) and that won't be happening again. Interestingly, the fitness center is also at the top of the hill. Once I got there, huffing and puffing from the walk there, I was only able to eek out ten minutes on the elliptical and a half-hearted arm workout with some free weights I found. Hardly worth it if you ask me.
Which brings me to my next topic, post-pregnancy, post-breastfeeding bra shopping. Or, "They Only Look Small to You". Because after nineteen months of looking like a fertility goddess, being able to wear a button down shirt again is exciting, but before you happily grab a bunch of cute little C and B bras off the rack and trot off to the dressing room you should consider your already fragile body image and perhaps start with something a little larger and work your way down. No one wants to be the one stalking out of the dressing room red faced and empty handed. Hate. HAATTTEEE.
I decided to postpone looking for a new pair of jeans.
So, no, I didn't find anything.
Mr. Charlie is quite the cranky boy this weekend. He has this scream-choke-scream combo that works its way into your head and reduces your intellectual age to approximately six months. He was doing it tonight when Ryan asked if he should run out for some Baby Orajel and I answered by rocking and crying and making a low gutteral sound.
At the church luncheon he devoured half a banana without me cutting it up first. When he saw the banana he lunged for it and started signing "more more more" so I just gave it to him thinking he would suck on it like he does apples. I was pretty proud of him, and even bragged to the friendly strangers sitting at our table, until I fed him a spoonful of beans and he threw up three large unchewed chunks of banana and all the beans I had given him all over my pants. But when my mom gave him table food at dinner he sat in his booster and sobbed until we gave him some jarred turkey and vegetables instead.
Is this teeth? Or do we need to call a priest for an exorcism?