I've noticed that the longer I've been married, the more I lose my hearing. For example during a fight, my husband told me that I "needed to stop it." (obviously speaking to my drug habit) and I heard "need to adopt." As you can imagine, our fight went down a different road and we've decided to adopt.

As for my drug habit, you can't overdose on vitamin gummies. I've checked into and it's fine. I can quit any time, ok?

I told a pregnant friend today:

"I can't wait until your baby comes out!!!!"

I'm positive that she teared up at my words filled with encouragement and love. Doesn't that just have that certain Hallmark ring to it? I was made for warm and thoughtful words. Made for it, I tell you.

I didn't think this would happen but after about a year without cable, we've finally hit threshold of good television available on Netflix. (And trust me we've watched everything.) So the other night we settled on the show 'Hoarders' for two reasons: 1) it had a lot of episodes and 2) we were desperate.

Typically, B and I cook together. I base this on the theory that he cooks better than I do, I have zero patience for cooking times, I can't open a bottle of wine on my own, and the fact that he doesn't trust me near knives, hot surfaces, or microwaves. In the kitchen, I am like a toddler with a lit candle in a room full of explosives, and B is my anxiety-ridden mom. But today, B fell victim to a case of allergies and a possible cold, so I was in the kitchen alone. Alone with all of the pointy sharp knives, the stove top and the oven, the sealed bottles of wine and of course, the scary microwave.

I was cutting the cheese (tee-hee. still funny.) the knife slipped (and by knife I mean potato peeler) and nicked my fingernail. I, of course, screamed, shut my eyes and imagined the worst case scenario. Bryan thought my hand had been severed (he's so dramatic) but I calmed him saying it was only a nicked nail.

At dinner, I was unloading the dishwasher (which was full of...KNIVES!!! AND TUPPERWARE!! GUNS!!!!) and I hit my shin against the sharp corner of the door. I, of course, screamed. B thought I had cut myself while unloading the knives, looking for my other severed hand. No knives, no severed hands.

Then as I was cutting up asparagus, a rogue stalk fell out of my hand and on to the ground so, naturally, I shouted an expletive that most people reserve for stubbed toes or cut up appendages. Out of habit at this point, B asked if I cut myself, rushing over like a trained EMT. And wouldn't you know? Not only did I not cut myself but I didn't overcook it either.

Looks like I can be trusted with knives and dinner after all.

Yes. Yes I have. 

As I scrolled down Amazon this morning, something caught my eye.

Besides accidentally cursing in front of my 5 year old nephew, I've found a new reason why I'm not yet ready to be a mom. File this under Reason #437 Why I Am Not Ready to be a Mom

There was a baby outside of our house that cried for about an hour. Turns out that baby was really a cat.

From what I can tell, there are two problems with this: 1) I can't tell the difference between baby's cry and cat's cry. 2) Even when I thought it was a baby, I didn't check to see why there was a baby outside of our house.

Two strikes against mommyhood for this girl and maybe a strike against being a compassionate human being as well. Also, don't leave a baby on our porch. I'm allergic to cats, so I won't open the door.

...with this guy. 88% of the photos on my phone are of him. (other 6% food, 6% my dog) Good thing he married me or that would be creepy.

Bryan and I just figured out we were on the same acne medication in high school. This means one of two things:

1) our kids are doomed.
2) we are soul mates.

Apparently saying "I want to eat your baby" is not appropriate when complimenting one's newborn child.

Well, now I know. How am I supposed to learn if I don't make a few mistakes right?

Also, I'm free for babysitting, if anyone is interested.