I cannot believe that I just did that. From accross the busy office floor I gave a coworker - a single, non-mother coworker friend, the international sign of breast pumping. (Bring fingers to thumbs, tilt hands out, place in front of chest and mime one at a time. Sound effects optional.) Wow. As if the saggy, stretched out underwear that continues to threaten a free-fall to my ankles and the shoes that fit perfectly upon my swollen feet that are now two sizes too big and keep tripping me were not enough of an assault on the outward appearance of "normal." Slap a spaz sticker on my forehead and call me done.
The upside is that I've made it through the day thus far without getting spit up on. That's because I barely got to see my little fella this morning. He was still sleeping as I stole away for another marathon day at the office. I'm so thankful that I'm finally moments away from walking out the door because I get to go home to this:
No - not that... THIS:
Look at those ROLLS!! Couldn't you just slap some butter on 'em and NOM NOM NOM NOM!?
And sweet, sweet heaven above me! I get me a little bit of this, too:
More pictures soon that weren't taken with a toilet paper tube and a piece of construction paper. That is, after we sleep.
i didn't know that sign! that's important information! love the chubby rolls!
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