Maybe this means that as hard as it is to peel myself and Mister A away from California and the family, it's about time to get on home. I mean, I'm forgetting I have a baby. If we stay much longer I'll forget my middle name or how much I hate bluebonnets. That would be bad. For my hiney.
And I'm also needing to get home to start The Shred. I'm blatantly copying my good friend Sarah in her quest to look like Gillian Michaels. Or Gillian's somewhat less manly sister with blonder hair. That's my quest anyway, after a panicky moment earlier this week when I realized in order to take Mister A swimming, I'd have to remove my cover up. And reveal the unbikini body underneath. In public. In a state where women actually look like Jessica Alba and Giselle. Gulp. I gritted my teeth and disrobed, because I'm a mom and we are expected to set aside our vanity for the happiness of the little people, but I sure wasn't happy about feeling so self conscious despite the baby weight being (99%) gone. Time for some firming and toning. Wish me luck, internet. I hear Gillian's about to kick my ass six ways from Sunday.
Enough about me, how's Mister A, you ask? Super relaxed as well, despite those three minutes of crying after naptime before his mommy snapped to it. His teeth seem to be on a break from causing him immense pain and uncharacteristic crankiness, thank goodness. Let's hope this parlays into a nice long uninterrupted 13 hour night's sleep for the both of us.
Grandma and Grandpa took Mister A to the park. Where he hid out in a conch shell and was apparently given some very surprising news by a dolphin.