I sit here and wonder what's going to happen tomorrow. Or the next day. I'm either going to be officially 'late' or officially 'not pregnant'.

...
cue Darth Vader-esque music

"All rise in the presence of... Blue Helmet!"

I've seen Spaceballs too many times. When we had friends over one night the four of us started rehashing the movie. All of us could make it through at least three complete scenes without resorting to thinking about the words or the cues. Scary. My child is going to be doomed. I married someone with the same sense of humor. Our families could be related, that's how alike they are in that respect. Forget all the stereotypes about inlaws, mine are just a notch below Absolute Perfection. I wouldn't have it any other way.

So the Boy's Ship is starting the long and tedious process of repairs post-deployment. Hence the blue helmet comment. His hard hat is, in fact, blue.

I think it's cute. And it's my blog so I get to make the rules.

At some point this week I'm going to do laundry. At some point I'm going to sift through my cookbooks and come up with a meal that is both tasty and rock-bottom cheap. The budget's hurting again. I want it to stop. I'd like to go back to the days when I was working, earning a decent paycheck every week, and could go to bed whenever I wanted. Now that time's been eaten up by childcare and mommying. I don't care. All I need is that sweet smell of baby-head in the morning. The smile lighting her eyes. The giggle she greets me with first thing in the morning.

My insomnia is finally catching up with me. I think, just maybe, possibly, I'll be able to sleep tonight. Cool.