I'm considering trying to take on a few freelance stories before this baby comes as I want my own money.
There's a ridiculous amount of laundry that needs to be folded.
I'm thinking of firing our cleaning lady because she recently really pissed me off and I could use the extra money (please don't judge the fact that I've a cleaning lady) which means, well, now I need to clean things.
I'm exhausted. Constantly. It's almost impossible for me to not lay down while Sabine takes a nap instead of doing all of the above.
In other boring and narcissistic news:
It's getting harder and harder to sleep comfortably with this tiny human growing in my belly.
Heartburn sucks. A lot.
How insane is Kim from the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills? Certifiable nutbar. And that new boyfriend of hers seems a lot less than stable, too.
I love Chelsea Handler.
Sabine bit me yesterday. I told you she was a tiny monster.
Tiny monster also suddenly loves baths instead of acting like we are dipping her in hot lava.
We saw the movie Young Adult over the holidays. A sad waste of twenty bucks and almost two hours. In my unprofessional opinion, Diablo Cody is slipping.
I need to write something about seeing my cousins and uncles on Christmas...how I see my mother's face in all of their faces, which is heartbreaking and comforting all at the same time.
I also need to write about how nobody in my immediate family talks to my brother anymore. And he lives only a mile or two from my father. It's so strange how the family can crumble after a mother dies.
And about how Sabine never wants to take a nap or go to sleep at night because she loves playing and cuddling and singing and dancing and being and life so much that she never wants to stop. And sometimes, all I can think about is sleep.
But right now, I need to stop writing and get Sabine from her crib.