Do I hate this woman, or what? Here I am gimping around, dragging one foot behind me like Marty Feldman in Young Frankenstein, and she's 40 weeks pregnant and running marathons? Show-off. It only takes a few women like her to ruin pregnancy for the rest of us.
It was Larry's turn to take Theo on the road today. In fact, I think it is going to be his turn from now on. We'll settle for traditional gender role assignments here - I give birth to the kids, and Larry teaches them how to drive. That's fair, isn't it? And, you know, that Lamaze breathing that everyone learns at childbirth classes that doesn't do squat when you are actually in labor? It does come in useful when you are in the passenger seat and the "baby" is driving. I sure hope Larry paid attention to how to do it.
Well, it's time to set half the clocks in the house back and then get distracted and leave the others as is and be really, really mixed up when we get up tomorrow morning. Maybe we just shouldn't bother to change any of them until tomorrow. But then we'll get up in the morning and ask each other, "Did we set them back last night or not?" It isn't easy, living with early-onset dementia.
By the way, I have no idea what's going on with some of the comments on this blog - I just found this whole page of comments I must have missed, and I don't know how. So if you're thinking I was ignoring you, you're right - but I didn't mean to. And now I'm having a hard time typing while trying to listen to Garrison Keillor, so I have to go. I do have some of my priorities in order, you know. And listening to A Prairie Home Companion outranks goofing off in the blogosphere. Unfortunately, reading Curious George for the millionth time comes in dead last, which could explain why Rachel is still sitting on the couch waiting for me to read to her and tuck her in. Bad Mommy, bad!