Yesterday Rick came home from work sick so I banished him to the bedroom in an attempt to keep the sicky germs isolated. Men are sooooo funny when they're sick. When the mom is sick nobody cares--dinner still needs to be cooked, the laundry doesn't quit piling up, and kids certainly don't behave. When the dad's sick? Whole different story-he has a little cold and you'd think he's on his deathbed. The pitiful way he moans and calls for drinks and needs so much TLC. I know I am mean for laughing at his misery, but I seriously can't help it. It's my passive-aggressive way of thinking how unfair it is. I would love to be sick if it meant he would take over the household and childcare duties and I could sleep in bed for hours uninterrupted!

Here's my main reason for writing: while Rick was watching TV I had the kids in the kitchen running amok helping me fix something to eat. Sarah and I were chatting about babies and I was asking her if she remembered when Patrick was "in my belly". She didn't, but she was very interested in the concept of a baby growing inside of a belly. She had a very confused look on her face and rubbed my admittedly slightly pooching belly and asked, "baby?". I should have been offended, but I wasn't-I just said, "No, there's no baby in there yet." She paused contemplatively and looked at me. A look of understanding came upon her face and then she stretched her arm behind me and patted my very spacious butt and asked again, "Baby?". Okay, that time I was offended.