Last night I trudged up the stairs because there was a commotion regarding my failure to wash the Thomas the Train pajamas from Nana.  I guess you could call it a commotion about the locomotion.  Ta, da, DUM.  (I'll be here all week, folks).

As I hit the top of the stairs, I could hear my son still in the shower singing "happy birthday to you" in Toddler-eze.  My husband walked around the corner in his underwear.  I gave his waist the hairy eyeball.

D:  What are you looking at?
K:  You.  Gaining your weight back.
D:  Am not.
K:  Hold on, I'll get the scale out.

K:   AHHHH HAAA!!! you gained 4 pounds. 
D:  Actually I think it is more like 3.
K:  Whatever.
D:  Where do you think YOU are going?  Get on that scale, Cheesecake Girl.

D:  What are you doing?
K:  I'm taking all my clothes off.  You are wearing your underwear so I'm going to wear mine.
D:  No offense but I think your underwear are A LOT lighter than mine.
K:  WHATEVER.  

I got on the scale and screamed because I had only gained 2 pounds in the last 2 weeks.  And I ate a whole cheesecake.  "It's your birthday...it's your birthday...who's your daddy?  Who's your daddy?"

D:  Well.....
K:  I rock.
D:  (leaning over my shoulder as we stood staring down at the scale--me with my ass pushed to the side so I could actually read the scale) Let me help you with that.
K:  Huh?

With that he grabbed both of sad, weary yet ample breasts and lifted them up.  We both leaned over to look at the scale and realized that suddenly I was 10 pounds lighter. 

D:  Holy SHIT!  I've got 10 pounds of pure lovin' in these hands.

And all this time I was thinking it was my socks that were making me too heavy...