1 + 1 = Oh my wine

I am having another baby in January and, even though I don't usually believe in old wives' tales, I'm almost positive I'm having a girl.  Or a demon.

You see, I have been feeling like a giant pile of doo for the last several months.  Imagine headaches that last for days and running away from meals to go vomit in the bathroom.  Basically I feel like I'm back in college drinking room temperature donkey bottles of Vendage every night.  Which I did.  And still don't understand how I graduated.

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In addition to hurling in public places, I've also been doing awesome stuff like this:

Was I even moving during this half hour??

This is what I call the "I Am Literally Just Here to Kill Time" workout".

I also, on more than one occasion, saw the commercial start for Jublia during Wimbledon and got all excited about getting my hands on some Cinnamon Toast Crunch before I realized the graphic I was seeing was a toe fungus gremlin and not a delicious cinna-square.   So that's clearly a new low.

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Basically as I always suspected, I'm just like the Duchess of York Princess Cate.  She's my morning sickness spirit sister.

JK, it's still Amy Schumer.

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And yes I'm very excited.  But I'm also very scared.  Two under two shant be easy.  But at least after January I close my uterus business forever and enjoy my only two kids for the rest of my non-pregnant life.

Not Smoothie

This is what happens when your child is basically like the adorable version of Gordon Ramsey in the kitchen with 0% patience when his food is bring prepared:

And honestly I'm only saying Gordon Ramsey because Mussolini seems like too harsh of a comparison for a toddler.  But if you don't get this kid his food in 2 minutes or less after he has walked into the kitchen, you better watch your back.  It makes for some really relaxing 6:15 wake up calls.

You get flustered at his screaming and then you accidentally paint your entire kitchen in colorful and sticky smoothie.

(It turns out even fancy blenders are smart enough to tell you that the lid wasn't on all the way.)

While my kitchen looks like a tub of blueberry curd exploded, at least I thought to look in the mirror and get the excess liquid out of my hair.  Unlike this morning, when I accidentally dropped a plate of eggs, which could not have broken into more pieces.  It wasn't until about 3 hours later that I realized I had a nice cheesy chunk of protein dangling above my ear.

I'm basically nailing motherhood.

Now on a more serious note, this is my AFTER cleaning picture.  Does anyone know how to get blueberry stain off of a ceiling?

Now I want Chipotle

Should I be alarmed that 4 separate people tagged me in this Instagram post yesterday?

 

 

 

Whatever...If the burrito fits!