I blame you for letting me walk into a tree branch yesterday. For leaving the backdoor unlocked twice in one day. For asking the barista at Starbucks for a “venti ice wa-wa.” That’s my son’s word for water. He is speech delayed, but “wa-wa” is one of the four words the therapists give him credit for. I use it often, and I use it proudly, but I hadn’t used it in adult conversation until this week.
I blame you, pregnancy brain, for not closing that water bottle tightly enough today, causing it to leak slowly through my purse and onto my seat as Tiny Boss and I sat in the waiting room for his appointment.
Forty minutes of waiting means forty minutes of my pants absorbing the liquid. Did I mention I wore light maternity khakis today? I didn’t even notice anything was wrong until we headed down the hallway into another waiting area and Tiny Boss decided he was tired and refused to walk. As I turned around to pull him up off the floor, I noticed a huge wet spot across my entire left butt cheek. I hoped the other patients didn’t think that I peed my pants in my with-child state. I tried to make a big show of drying off my wet purse, but then I realized they might think I peed on my purse too. I’m just glad we weren’t at the OB/GYN.
Unrelated, or maybe this can be attributed to pregnancy brain as well – I nursed Tiny Boss today while he was naked. I’m pretty sure I caught a fart in my hand.