Donde pongo el ojo pongo la bala.
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Pregnancy brain and other disasters

Today, George sent me a seemingly innocuous video.

Innocuous, that is, unless you are a 20-something female in her first trimester of pregnancy. Two-legged chihuahua HAS NO HANDS, OK? NO HANDS. I am totally ugly crying over here.

You’d think he’d've learned by now. Last night we watched “Country Strong” (which I think I didn’t like at all, but my taste, including in movies, seems to be out of whack right now, so I’ll get back to you on whether I really liked it or not in, oh… 18-22 years). There’s this little boy towards the end with leukemia. You know the scene is coming, but when he appears in the frame, with his lack of eyebrows and his giant cowboy hat? Well, I don’t think I’ve ever lost my crap quite as quickly as I did then and there. Emotional, couch-rocking, chest-rattling sobs, snot everywhere, the works. Not pretty.

So, word to the wise: please avoid showing me anything cute, anything sad, or anything having to do with little animals or children. Especially sick children. Or sick little animals. Or sick little children dressed like animals. Thanks.