57: gallons of baby yogurt Amelia eats per day
2: times I’ve wondered if I could actually *make* baby yogurt before reminding myself that I am, in fact, the same person who ruined jello and has destroyed multiple muffin tins.
98,493,003: times I’ve wondered if people were actually bragging about their babies height/weight percentiles.
98,493,003: times I’ve decided that yes, people will find ANYTHING to feel smugly superior about
3: times that I’ve decided to feel smugly superior that my dog eats his own poo. Because, you know, he’s EFFICIENT and GREEN.
9,330,287: times I’ve considered donating him to the next motherf*$%ing person who wants to talk to me about being more EFFICIENT and GREEN.
2,220,128,203,494: times I’ve considered taxidermy instead.
89: prediction of trolly comments about what a POS pet owner I am this will evoke over the next 6-12 months.
7: bonus points for each use of the words or phrase: “irresponsible” “lawn” “neighbor” “pet shop” “puppy mill.” Double points for anyone who uses guilt, like there is anything I can do about it NOW.
36: syllables my middle child can currently stretch “Mooooooooom” out into
4: times each day I want to grind out my ear drums with a red hot poker so I do not have to listen to aforementioned version of “Mom.”
Super Great: on a scale of 1- 10 how awesome I am.
16: orchids I currently own, making me officially 2 steps shy of the crazy cat lady, only with orchids
2: times I’ve said to myself, “well, at least the orchids don’t get me UP OVER NIGHT” officially making me MY MOTHER and therefore warranting a scrubby bath in bleach
0: current number of television husbands
4: current number of possible candidates, all of whom are flawed in some way or another. Momma’s still on the prowl for a new leg to hump.
4,329: squirrels in my 3 x 5 foot backyard currently trying to find AND hide nuts for winter.
56: times I’ve maturely cackled at the term “hide nuts for winter,” because OBVIOUSLY.
207: times I’ve craved a potato in the past two weeks reminding me a) of the time that Dan Quayle misspelled that word (which, who am I to talk?)(answer: nobody) and b) being pregnant (which who am I to talk?) (answer: not pregnant)
79-ish: comments roasting me about my delightfully tacky cellphone cover, all of which made me laugh so hard that I cried. You guys, YOU I love.
79-ish: times I was equally grateful that while although you guys rake me–justifiably–over the coals, you seldom get all Grammar Police on me.
So, wanna make out?
And, more importantly, should I make my kid be the Land Shark for Halloween and knock on doors and say “CANDYGRAM” instead of “Trick or Treat?”
And really, threaded comments (the ones that you get an email reply to)? As awesome as I think they are?