Yesterday, Miss Chatterbox was particularly destructive. During one of my many, many visits to the loo, (possibly the most annoying thing about pregnancy - Thanks, Spawn), she took a sharpie to my favorite, special edition, waited in line in the wee hours of the morn, for more than 4 hours, Harry Potter book. I don't tend to be attached to my things, but it's Harry Potter, People. Harry Frickin' Potter! It's sacrilege, I tell you! Especially, since I practically hero worship JK Rowling. If I swung that direction, I would totally do her.
(Disclaimer - there is no swinging in this tree. Not that there is anything wrong with it, I'm just a total heterosexual prude.)
Moments after I sent Miss Chatterbox to her room, to think about why she shouldn't write in books, The Bun let out a pissed off squeal so high pitched, I'm sure dogs the next county over, were spinning in circles and howling. She promptly followed that heart stopping audiological feat with a vomit inducing poosplotion.
I'm telling you, it's a conspiracy. No joke, yo. I watched Miss Chatterbox throw up her cribs' gang signs to her sister as she practically death marched to her room.
It looked something like this:
But translated something like this:
Yo Sissy, I warmed her up, she's ready ta blow. You should gots a poosplotion. While yo doin' dat, I'll hide her keys. Again, yo. It be funnin'. We gots dis here sheeit tied up! She be in da nuthouse ins no time. Then we gets our party on, mutha f$*#a!
Betcha didn't know I spoke ghetto. One of my many talents.
Don't think The Spawn didn't get in on the fun. Oh no, he/she treated me to an extra special back "rub"(called the sciatica), when I tried to stand upright after changing The Bun's diaper.
Damn kids. Gotta love 'em!
And one more for the road!
That means - TGIF, Mutha Readers!!!