*TM Halo.

1. Okay, who’s having sex? ME. I am. Could sex possibly be the best invention that was ever invented? I like May and May likes me.

Okay, so you may have guessed that we’re finally over the flu here. It’s rough, having all that time off, and being sick. I got sick and well first and so was ready to get off the bench sooner, so I was having really weird dreams about running into people I haven’t seen in years and then flinging our clothes off. Hormones, you are making me crazy and turning innocent dreams about birthday cakes and snow into bargain-basement pr0n.

Ahem. Anyway. Can I show you my ass? Do you have a choice? NO.

You don’t know this, because I’ve not been posting full-body shots of myself here (and aren’t we grateful for the small things?) but I have dropped a pants size since weaning and moving here. I’m hoping I can drop another one so I can get back into my out-of-style Capri pants from 2004. I am clinging to my Capri pants because you will have to shoot me before I resort to MF leggings or whatever jank-ass length is in style now.

2. My fella is back to work today, so I am sliding back to my normal routine, but I really do miss him. I think Strudel does too. She was pointing at the door earlier, after he left, which could mean she’s thinking of him. Or she’s thinking of the door. Or she had to poop. I don’t know!

I have made an acquaintance through Franny’s school who has a baby a couple of weeks younger than Strudel and a daughter Franny’s age. She’s really nice, too. Pretty cool, right? Goddam, I hope so. But the reason I bring her up is because she does that baby sign thing with her children, where they make little gestures at each other so the baby can communicate preverbally.

When I was knocked up with Franny I thought this was a great idea, but we never really got around to doing it. But now I have seen it in action, and I think it’s a terrible idea. My friend gushed about how your little Boopsie can tell you EXACTLY what he or she wants. This is bad for two reasons.

First, in my experience, babies are confused and capricious a lot of the time, much like big people. Strudel seems to change her mind every three minutes or so. You get the message that they want carrots, you hop-to and fetch up some carrots, and then they tell you they want toast. NO, THANK YOU.

Second, I can wait until Strudel turns three to become a tiny ungrateful tyrant like her sister is sometimes. Be patient, The Baby. Until you learn to talk, I will tell you what you can have for lunch. And I will tell you what you can have for lunch even after you learn to talk. Learn to talk and then you can try to be the boss of me.

We have our own system, anyway. Strudel points at her lips when she’s hungry and throws her arms up when she’s finished. She points at the food when she wants more. And if I say, “Did you poop?” I know that she did if she runs away to the back of the house. Simple.

SOOOO, on Sunday night my fella and I totally made a pot pie which is fun and delicious. I always make the center and he is the Crustmaster. Sometimes he surprises me, because when my filling duties end I usually wander off. I think this even trumps the “SJ” pie, which I tried to find on my blog but couldn’t. Nevermind.

I love this guy and I’m going to keep him, as long as he comes home and has sex with me. If he stops putting out he GETS THE PILLOW. “I’m sorry, honey, I have to smother you now. This is for your own good.” Stupid flu. If I wanted to stop having sex, I would get married.

WHOA! *rimshot*