Like a human word scramble. riaMim!

So, I know I'm not the most logical gal on the block of late.

Last night J and I were messing around with some photos he took and I started to get all tense and snotty about the recent lack of picture-taking happening in our home despite the expensive piles of photographic equipment lying around.

Thing is, here's what I tend to do when J tries to innocently capture my image for art or posterity:









The only pictures I like either don't contain me or allow me to peek cheekily from behind something large. I can't wait for this pregnancy to be done with so I can try to scrabble myself back into shape. Then again I am clearly underqualified for ownership of the kid we already acquired (see yesterday's post), so what am I are we thinking releasing another? At the very least, I'd like to have just one chin and am not impressed with my ability to simulate a pterodactyl's wingspan with my underarm flab, thank you very much. (And when I say, "you", I mean Nestle's tub of toaster-oven-able dough and Eggnog flavored Coffeemate. You high-quality baby making nutrients, you.)

I am once again reduced to a weepy jumble. Noodle #2 must be working on a brain-part or a hormone gland or somesuch frivolous indulgence. Brat. I hope he at least has the courtesy to grow some Momentous Cheeks of Great Kissiness, in the tradition of Toby before him: