I go to bed in mourning. We broke down our only child’s baby bed this afternoon and made way for “big boy” bunk beds. I’m telling you, I had to fight back the tears. . . but our son does seem to like his new sleeping quarters. On the bright side of things it does make reading to him before bed a bit easier, but I’m not sure I’m completely ready to trade the rocking chair for a double bunk and a book.
It’s Water Babies time again, and I think I’ve finally figured out why my husband gets so excited that I’m taking our son to the pool each week. I suspect he isn’t really excited that my son seems to actually enjoy the water, or that I get to have some bonding time with our little one, or even that our son is one step closer to learning to swim. I’m thinking, now I could be wrong here, but I’m thinking it’s because I shave. . . everywhere.
Now mind you, it’s not like I haven’t shaved at least a few appropriate spots all winter. I don’t totally embrace my French heritage (I love the French, by the way) and go all natural. My underarms do get a good shearing at least twice a week. [If this is all T.M.I., you have my permission to stop reading here and just move onto one of my other reviting posts here at Small Talk Mama.]
My legs, on the other hand, do not feel a razor quite as often during the winter. When you’re one of those dark-headed gals who has a five o’clock leg shadow at the end of the day, you tend to give the shaving a break during the cold months. And of course, you never know when you might get caught in a snow storm and need that extra insulation to survive a very cold night. Am I right?
Then there is the bikini line – appropriately named, I think. Regardless of my husband’s references to Gallagher, why should I have to shave my bikini line if I am not wearing a bikini, or any other type of swimsuit for that matter. There will be enough shaving and itching (you ladies know of what I speak) when springtime and summer come around each year. I’ve tried other hair removal techniques for this area, but waxing where the sun don’t shine just doesn’t cut it in my book.
No, the honeymoon is not over, so to speak; but I’m not making any apologies or promises related to my shaving habits. In fact, I think it’s rather sexy when my husband doesn’t shave for a few days, so what’s a few months?
I’m not suppose to get sick — I’m the mama. But since my husband brought home some funky germs and infected the whole family, I at least did my motherly duty to get sick during the weekend (the entire weekend) so that I could be back on the job bright and early (real early) Monday morning.
I used to think moms never got sick. I mean, how could they — they have families to run? I don’t remember my mom ever being sick when I was growing up, but maybe she just pushed through the pain because there wasn’t an alternative or perhaps she did have her aches, pains, sniffles and shivers, but only on the weekends when Dad could otherwise occupy us.
If I had been around when Mom was ill I’m sure I would have noticed, because even though I had to fulfill my motherly duties yesterday (and not much else) my two-year-old seemed to sense that I was not at the top of my game and made the proper adjustments. That, I will take — it might be better than sick leave.