Lest I give you the mistaken impression that my life is now all long, luxurious sleeps and snuggly babies in feetie pajamas, I feel I need to disclose that sometimes it’s also taking 90 minutes to complete the 45-minute bedtime routine while Mike is at baseball, and staggering exhausted to the basement only to discover a giant centipede that withstood 8 smashes with a heavy book before finally dying in a fashion that was unconvincing enough I keep going back to check if it’s still dead. (Yes, I am leaving the carcass for Mike to clean up when he gets home. I AM ONLY HUMAN, PEOPLE.)
In related news, we must move immediately. Does anyone want to buy an adorable 3-bedroom home on a quiet cul-de-sac? Priced to move. Only somewhat infested with horrifying unkillable insects.