When getting Noah ready for bed last night I attempted to cut his toenails. This is no easy feat as he HATES it. You can rub his foot for ever, but touch the toenails and you’re out of there! This could be because he has inherited his toenails from my side of the family which requires a professional sander to remove the cuticles, but has not inherited my family’s love for picking at things.

Me to Noah: I am so sorry that Mommy gave you these horrible toenails.

Lee to Me: The good thing is that you know they came from you which means it shows I didn’t cheat on you and Noah is yours.

Me: *sigh* I hope this baby has better toenails.

Lee: I hope this baby is white.

Me: Why? So you can prove that I mothered this baby too?

Lee: Exactly.

You can try and justify the randomness of our conversations on lack of sleep or anxiety due to impending baby arrivals, but that’s just how things are around here.

Once you start making sense and talking seriously, you know that you’ve got problems.

On discussing why I’d want to get rid of our second barbecue.

Me: We have the prince of barbecues, why do we need the pauper?

Lee: What’s a pauper?

Me: A pauper? A poor person.

Lee: Ooh, a POOR-per.

Me: Uhh, not a porpoise, a pauper.

Lee: Yeah, but you’re saying POP-per

Me: And you’re saying POOR-per

Lee: Yeah, as in POOR-person.