My Bad

So Quinton loves Kleenex. Used Kleenex. It’s a disgusting habit that we’ve tried our best to curtail, to little avail. Our garbage cans have lids, but he has figured out how to get in to some of the them. The bedroom one has to be put under the stool, otherwise he tips it over, the lid pops off, and he enjoys his rewards.

The bathroom one can’t overflow at all, because if the lid isn’t flush, he’ll stick his nose in the tiniest of crack, flick the lid open and stick his head in. Right now his trick is to sniff our pockets, and when we’re lying on the floor and not paying attention, he’ll slowly slip his mouth in, grab a corner, slowly pull it out and sneak under the dining room table where he finishes the job.

Every night Quinton will check both of our end tables, to see if we’ve forgotten and placed a Kleenex there. This has a success rate of about 1%, but he continues to do it, sometimes more than once if one of us leaves for the bathroom. What’s maddening is that one time we do slip, and his sleuthing efforts are rewarded.

I’ve complained about people asking if we have a baby yet in previous posts. I think to myself, “Of course I don’t! Don’t you think I’d mention something that exciting!” That question will only get a different response about 1% of the time. Well, I’ve got a friend at work that asks me that nearly daily, and he hit the 1%. I actually forgot to tell him.

I KNOW! I KNOW! Not only do I suck as a friend, I had to answer the question with our news, thus justifying all those times he asked before!

My caveats. I told everyone last week, except he was gone all week. When I came to work on Monday, everyone knew the news. Except for one. Still… no excuses.

Now, a look at the bright side. I doubt anyone will be asking about any news for a couple months now, because that question now translates to “Has she changed her mind?” At least until late November, when we can starting thinking (worrying) about early birth.


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