so Courtney Love and a polar bear walk into a bar. . .

Just a few days left till Manchild's arrival. I have left the nesting phase and entered hibernation.  (This pleases Peter a great deal; in the fluffy white bathrobe that I wear at least several hours a day now, he thinks I look like a polar bear. I think it is very, very brave of him to say this out loud, and only the fact that my top land speed these days can charitably be described as "slothlike" has made it possible for him to say it more than once.)



OK, I kind of see his point. Throw in a Roku remote and a bigger belly and that guy in front is pretty much me.

My brain is also in hibernation. It just took me twenty minutes, five google searches, and three manuals to remember where the heck to load the paper in our printer.  (Answer: paper tray. In the front of the printer. Labeled in letters 3 feet tall. Where it's always been.)

And this morning I did a Really Bad Thing that my brain was too slow to stop. I looked in the mirror; my bangs were too long; I picked up some scissors and everything went wahoonie-shaped. When I regained awareness fifteen minutes later the bathroom was ankle deep in hair. And I looked like this. Minus the chemically-enhanced (?) smile.

 

It's not that I don't know the rules. I KNOW that the old "just tidying them up" routine only works between sober hours of noon and 6pm. And I know that in between snips you must carefully lay down the scissors, examine your reflection critically, and make a measured judgment before resuming. But this morning my hibernating brain left my arm all alone, and my gleefully unsupervised arm kept chopping. And the best part is how the resulting mess is going to be documented For All Eternity in next week's obligatory hospital pictures.

Oh well. Having missed out on the chance to have our very own Awkward Pregnancy Photo, the least we can do is Awkward Hospital Photo.