We all knew it was coming.  The fall, that is.  And the fact that as soon as the temperature dropped, I would become the temperature nazi in my house.  Blame it on pregnancy.  Blame it on cash-flow problems.  Blame it on whatever you like.  But this thermostat ain't climbing above 61 degrees in this house.

I'll admit it gets a little worse when I am pregnant.  Last time I was pregnant, Derek walked around the house with shirts/sweatshirts/sweatpants/socks/slippers and occasionally a hat.  I walked around in a crop top and butt shorts.  What can I say?  I'm hot.  We have all known it for years.  I mean, temperature wise.  I don't think anyone (other than my husband) has known the other "hotness" about me for quite some time. 

So in preparation, my husband mentioned it to me the other day that we now have a small child in the house and was I intent on freezing him too (with a slight you-would-be-a-bad-mother insinuation)?  I mentioned that the kid could wear shirts/sweatshirts/sweatpants/socks/slippers and occasionally a hat if he got cold enough.  Need I remind everyone that this child was born in the dead of winter and screamed like a banshee when you put anything on him other than a diaper?  Call me crazy but I think he is gonna be fine.

But last night it got really cold and I decided that I might have to wear something to bed.  Don't get me wrong.  I was a commando girl prior to getting pregnant for the first time but now that I can tuck my boobs into my pants, I feel it may be in my best interest to keep them supported by Victoria's Secrets finest at a minimum.  But now that it's cold and I live with a COVER'S HOGGGGG, I should wear something a little more substantial to bed. 

K:  You know, Renee gave me those bags of maternity clothes.  I noticed there were pajamas in there.  Maybe I should wear them to bed.

Abject horror.  It crossed his face before he could mask his emotions.  His wife, wearing maternity pajamas with little pink flowers over them?  I guess Renee didn't order the French Maid's pajamas, so we are where we are. 

I put them on.

Renee knows where this is about to go....

They weren't maternity pajamas.  They were nursing pajamas.  Right there in the middle of the shirt were two round holes whereby you can whip the boo out at a moment's notice.  My husband just stared.  And stared.  And stared.  And before I could stop him, he gave me a Double Feelsky through the holes.

D:  How cool are THESE pajamas. 

Lord help me.


I would now like to take this opportunity to apologize to my dear friend Carl for the fact that he wandered into this post unwittingly and is so mortified that perhaps he will cancel his annual plan to attend our New Year's Eve party this year.  I want to remind Carl I have not used the words "breast" or "breastfeeding" at the last 3 New Year's parties so if he wants to pretend this post never happened, I'll never mention it again.  I can't guarantee what my husband will say after a bottle of wine but then again, when can I ever predict what my husband will say?