Thursday, October 17, 2013

Tappin' the tats

Y'all...I thought I would default to a lascivious zinger of a post title to distract you from the egregious grammar error of a previous post.

Sidebar, I love that after a decade of living in the south that I can say y'all and claim street cred. But don't think I am going to go all sweet tea and smocking on you. I err on the side of madras, and like my blogging friend Pam--have deemed this abode a no smocking zone.

Would you believe blogging at 11pm on a Sunday while pumping and eating ice cream simultaneously (cream in...cream out) gives me permission to mix up their and there? It's totally grammar law.

And if Gus didn't keep me up with wanting to have girl talk at night, the shame and horror I felt when I read the error on my feed would have kept me up, anyway.

And all that staying up at night has really started taking its toll, and this morning I totally had a tweetable moment.

And I haven't opened my Twitter app in almost 2 weeks because I am afraid of feeling the obligation to scroll back and catch up on every Tweet I missed--I'm weird like that--so I have resigned to the fact I may no longer giggle over some hilarious Honest Toddler tweet, or stalk the bromance between Zach Braff and Donald Faison.

And I realize that Twitter and I are still so new in our relationship that I don't think I am ready to be vulnerable with him. I mean...with Twitter I can actually see who is following me. With the blog I can pretend no one is following me. #perceptionisreality

And I can rely on the limitless charaters I am allowed to bore the masses before I even get to the point of my post.

AND...okay, on to it.

Scene: 6:45am this morning and I am nursing Gus and hypothetically texting (I mean, if I was one of those bad moms who uses her phone while nursing, which I am not...clearly).

I get ready to burp him, which happens almost instantaneously after he nurses. Brother can let one rip! But strangely, he is totally not burping. I keep tapping and hitting harder and harder (and hypothetically looking at my phone) until I realize...

...Gus is totally lying down on the bed next to me and I am burping my breast.

Now that the Congress's tantrums are being managed and they are back in session, I think I might work toward legislating a "don't text and nurse" law.


  1. Oh goodness! BTW, I love smocking (preferably on little girls' dresses). I didn't realize it was a southern thing. I hope Gus got his burp somehow...
    I imagine your lack of sleep (having not allowed the toxins to leave your body), may have contributed to the burping the breast incident.

  2. I AM CRACKING UP. AWESOME. I also like smocking on girls dresses. :)