definitely not asking Blake to fix it. I’ll just have to take care of it later. Practically blind, I feel around for the basket. Once it’s located, I grab it off the washer and start on my clothes collecting journey.
Slowly, I approach the one and only thing I hate about this house, well, except my new mute husband. My nemesis… the God awful stairs.
This hate started when we moved into our brand new house, and it grows exponentially every day that I become more pregnant. With a whimper of detest, I place the basket under my arm and start the tedious climb. Once at the top, I take a second to catch my breath and continue on to the girls’ rooms. I really should start working out. Or...
Walking into Nycole’s room, I turn on the light and as my eyes focus, I involuntarily cringe. I do it every single time I breach her living space. Words cannot express how much I hate the animal print patterns she used to decorate her entire room, but, I’m glad she finally has a room of her own. I know it makes her happy, so I’ll let her keep her horrendous zebra print walls, for now anyway .
I bend over and swipe her peace and love covered pajama pants and matching cami up from the leopard print rug.
Or is it cheetah?
Jaguar, maybe?
Well, whatever the hell it is, I’m getting out of here ASAP before I’m caught in the middle of a stampede.
Closing the door behind me, my feet instantly become tangled in the pajama trail that Kyndall so lovingly left for fear that I wouldn’t be able to find my way to her room. Leaning over to scoop them up, I laugh to myself. It’s not the location that’s the problem. It’s getting lost upon actual entry. I tend to keep her door closed at all times because her room also freaks me out. Whenever I open it, I feel like I’m looking into Carol Anne’s bedroom from Poltergeist, record playing protractor and all. It’s absolute chaos in there! Honestly, I’m scared I’ll get sucked in through the closet and have to go through that nasty membrane jelly crap in order to get out again.
No thank you.
I glance back down at the puppy and kitten covered pajamas under my feet, letting out another sigh. This is the only bad thing about having Tatum watch the girls. They get so excited that they tend to just spontaneously combust, leaving their clothes right where they stand. She called right after our silent breakfast this morning, offering to take them to the movies, and I was more than happy to oblige. Was being the operative word. Now I kind of feel like I’d rather have them here to buffer the overwhelming tension between Blake and me, but still, I am glad they’re getting their Tatum time. Ever since the wedding they’ve been inseparable on the weekends. She loves them and they love her.
As I deposit Kyndall’s pants into the basket, my eyes make contact with Rylie’s door. The brand new one that has already been decorated with Crayola-colored hearts and smiley faces. I make the decision to skip her room altogether this morning. I don’t have the energy to clean up the tiaras, plastic shoes, wings, wands and anything else she keeps in the trunk that Blake gave her for her birthday. So, like any decent mother, I just pretend it doesn’t exist.
Now finished with my clothing pick-up service— the tips suck by the way —I retrace my steps back down their hallway towards the stairs. At least the descent is easier. I cross back through the living room, snagging a couple of socks on the way and enter our bedroom, where I find Blake excitedly throwing on his black v-neck t-shirt over his faded jeans. I note, before his shirt covers it, the very sexy lines that define his hips. As I metaphorically wipe the drool from my mouth, I glance down at my white “Warning: I Pee When I Laugh” tank top. Harlow gave it to me as a reminder of my hopefully temporary state of incontinence.
Oh, I have so many things planned for her pregnancy.
I sure hope we’re not going anywhere because I
Slowly, I approach the one and only thing I hate about this house, well, except my new mute husband. My nemesis… the God awful stairs.
This hate started when we moved into our brand new house, and it grows exponentially every day that I become more pregnant. With a whimper of detest, I place the basket under my arm and start the tedious climb. Once at the top, I take a second to catch my breath and continue on to the girls’ rooms. I really should start working out. Or...
Walking into Nycole’s room, I turn on the light and as my eyes focus, I involuntarily cringe. I do it every single time I breach her living space. Words cannot express how much I hate the animal print patterns she used to decorate her entire room, but, I’m glad she finally has a room of her own. I know it makes her happy, so I’ll let her keep her horrendous zebra print walls, for now anyway .
I bend over and swipe her peace and love covered pajama pants and matching cami up from the leopard print rug.
Or is it cheetah?
Jaguar, maybe?
Well, whatever the hell it is, I’m getting out of here ASAP before I’m caught in the middle of a stampede.
Closing the door behind me, my feet instantly become tangled in the pajama trail that Kyndall so lovingly left for fear that I wouldn’t be able to find my way to her room. Leaning over to scoop them up, I laugh to myself. It’s not the location that’s the problem. It’s getting lost upon actual entry. I tend to keep her door closed at all times because her room also freaks me out. Whenever I open it, I feel like I’m looking into Carol Anne’s bedroom from Poltergeist, record playing protractor and all. It’s absolute chaos in there! Honestly, I’m scared I’ll get sucked in through the closet and have to go through that nasty membrane jelly crap in order to get out again.
No thank you.
I glance back down at the puppy and kitten covered pajamas under my feet, letting out another sigh. This is the only bad thing about having Tatum watch the girls. They get so excited that they tend to just spontaneously combust, leaving their clothes right where they stand. She called right after our silent breakfast this morning, offering to take them to the movies, and I was more than happy to oblige. Was being the operative word. Now I kind of feel like I’d rather have them here to buffer the overwhelming tension between Blake and me, but still, I am glad they’re getting their Tatum time. Ever since the wedding they’ve been inseparable on the weekends. She loves them and they love her.
As I deposit Kyndall’s pants into the basket, my eyes make contact with Rylie’s door. The brand new one that has already been decorated with Crayola-colored hearts and smiley faces. I make the decision to skip her room altogether this morning. I don’t have the energy to clean up the tiaras, plastic shoes, wings, wands and anything else she keeps in the trunk that Blake gave her for her birthday. So, like any decent mother, I just pretend it doesn’t exist.
Now finished with my clothing pick-up service— the tips suck by the way —I retrace my steps back down their hallway towards the stairs. At least the descent is easier. I cross back through the living room, snagging a couple of socks on the way and enter our bedroom, where I find Blake excitedly throwing on his black v-neck t-shirt over his faded jeans. I note, before his shirt covers it, the very sexy lines that define his hips. As I metaphorically wipe the drool from my mouth, I glance down at my white “Warning: I Pee When I Laugh” tank top. Harlow gave it to me as a reminder of my hopefully temporary state of incontinence.
Oh, I have so many things planned for her pregnancy.
I sure hope we’re not going anywhere because I
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