Right now I am sitting at my desk, too afraid to deal with the army of angry, hungry ants that are hovering over the remains of what was a delightfully decadent and good/bad dinner (good = tastes great! bad = not the best of things I have eaten, ahoy) from last night, which were tied up in a bag next to the trash can. These ants are smart. They send a scout out looking for the good stuff, and then tell all their damned friends to come and party. UGH. Dear lord, I will never not take food out again, but why does our old apartment have gaps where these little bastards come and wait for my misstep?

Luckily, there is a Josh in there, who is being the sweetest person ever and not holding my mistakes over my head like he ought to. God bless him. Ants. Ugh.

In less antsy news, thank you for your kind wishes about our impending arrival! Sometimes I think to myself, “Holy crap, what have we done to poor Matthew?” and then I think, “He’ll love having someone to gang up on us with.” So we’re even. He’s not really sure about what is going on, but from time to time we tell him that there’s a baby in Mama’s belly but he will always be Mama’s baby. Here is a case where my sentimentality about him will probably end up confusing him. I have halfheartedly looked for books out there, but I’m not sure he’s old enough to appreciate a book right now on the topic. At any rate, I am sure it will be easier to talk about when he can see my belly get bigger and maybe feel the baby kick.

Crazy. I can hardly believe we’re doing this again.