Okay, Universe. That message you are trying to send me, I get it.
Yesterday, you kicked my ass. You bitch slapped me and I get it. Now just move along. Please?
I should have known when Famous Baby C woke me up at 2:27. That was when it all started to get truly ugly.
At about 3:30, Baby C got her beloved Silkie caught on my pile of mess at the table and dumped papers, DVDs, files, recipes, and crap across the kitchen.
After that, Baby C dumped my coffee at the breakfast table. My recipes and some other papers, placemat and camera cable...doused with black coffee.
Mercifully, universe, you saw fit to spare my poor laptop. Thanks for that one.
Meanwhile, my poor Mr. Smith is bent to the right (literally, not politically) and hurting.
And after all this, and I know, I am being a huge baby whining about this stuff, but we got a harsh wake up call about our physical well-being.
Turns out, Universe, we have not been taking care of ourselves. We knew it, but boy did you give us a scare.
I cried so much yesterday. I was really really really low. I didn't know how I would be able to make it through this.
Today, Universe, I feel differently.
I will not allow you or this or anything to kick my ass, or my husband's. No matter how crooked his ass may currently be.
So, we will start eating like adults and exercising. I will be a food Nazi, so that our physical well-being will be healed.
Now, Universe, can you do anything to make Famous Baby C sleep later?
Let me know.