Foiled

Noah came down with some sort of digestive thing. He's home from school. I'm not very gracious about it, because today is my day to get stuff done kid-free while Mattias is at the parent's day out program. Now I'm doing laundry on the sanitize cycle and half-heartedly playing school with Noah instead of the general house cleaning that really needs to be done. If Noah were sick enough I'd set him in front of the television, but he doesn't seem very sick at all, other than his occasional dashes to the bathroom. I've diagnosed him with Ate The Wrong Thing.

[sorry, photo removed!]

I'm pregnant. I feel big and kind of ache-y. I'm tired of being pregnant already. Twenty-eight weeks. Yesterday, the baby had a foot (or something) under my rib, and I told Fritz that I simply must take a bath instead of putting the boys to bed. Thank-you-very-much-Fritz-Goodnight-Boys. Fritz is a trooper about putting the boys to bed pretty much every night, but he was all: What does taking a bath have to do with dislodging a foot from under your rib? I was fast on my (own) feet, and I said a bath would relax my muscles and then the baby would move her foot. Sounds pretty credible, right? I thought so. Don't worry; the bath wasn't too hot and that foot (or something) DID get out from under my rib. For about 15 minutes.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bunch of toys to extract from under the sofas. And that foot is still under my ribs. Maybe crawling around on my knees will dislodge the baby's foot as effectively as a bath. Or - OR! - I have to go get Noah to do the toy extraction. Hmm. Yes, that sounds like the perfect task for him, while I go take another bath....