So S had his 2 month check-up yesterday and got 4 shots.
Poor guy, and poor me for trying to snuggle a grumpy baby while chasing P and M around. I waited until J got home from work to go to Sam's to get a few things and it was torture, for both of us. His comment, after trying to control P and M at Sam's while I pushed the massive cart around 15 times just to get the 3 things we needed: "Hate can't even begin to describe what I feel about taking them out in public." Pretty sad. And we prayed and welcomed them into our homes, wanted them fiercely. Imagine all the money we'd have if we hadn't procreated, and I'd still weigh 113 pounds. We could take trips to exotic locales, like Cincinnati or Gatlinburg, TN. Man, makes me want to pick up drinking.
After we decided to name #3 S, I realized my kids' initials are P-M-S. Quite appropriate, actually. My life at home, trying to control the chaos, stopping fights and kissing boo boos, keeping P and M from loving S to death, fixing a meal, cleaning up after a meal and then immediately fixing the next one--it's like a constant, chronic state of PMS. Sums it all up perfectly.
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