I may have let my toddler proceed to peel and eat an entire banana while walking around our house. He may have ground the last quarter of it into the carpet with his maverick-y little foot. I may have disciplinarily punted, telling him, "We don't squish bananas into the carpet. Next time, you're going get a spanking." He may have not even cared.
I may have helped him with his shape sorter and laughed as he perfectionistically lined up every shape, utterly bereft whenever he was incapable of getting each specific groove of one shaped block to sit flush or be inserted into the groove or lack thereof of the shaped block he attempted to "lock into place" next to it.
I may have concluded this particular morning's audition for mother of the year by sweetly and calmly rocking my toddler for five or ten minutes and then laying him in his bed. I may have been so naive as to think that he'd drifted off to sleep just in time to hear him calling me from underneath his doorway. (He may have, of late, grown accustomed to a few curtain calls at nap and bed time.) I may have decided that today was not his lucky day. He may currently be asleep on the hardwood floor.
I know what you're thinking. But there's one thing that could make sense of this whole, sad, pitiful morning of neglecting our home, my appearance, and some arguably pivotal child-rearing moments.
I may have something to announce.
I'm pregnant.
This post has been brought to you compliments of Emily's "Mayhave Monday" link up, and of course, my pregnancy hormones.
