Apparently last night I thought Wes was our baby. You’re absolutely correct in thinking that was a really weird sentence.
According to my intrepid husband, last night I thrust my hand out and touched his face, exclaiming all the while, “Why are you moving so much?! You’re just moving everywhere! I can feel your face!”
Wes, having been deeply asleep mere moments before this egregious violation of his visage, replied, “I wasn’t moving. You’re asleep,” whereupon I drew my hands back to my belly and said, “You’re right, it was the baby.”
Pay no heed to the fact that I woke up my husband last night by molesting his face and accusing him of being a fetus. Instead, think of how active Squishy must have been last night to give me cause to do said molesting.
Kicks of thunder, you guys. Kicks of thunder.
I wonder what Squishy was dreaming about to move so much? I’m guessing saving the world with his kick-ass kung fu moves.
-Blanche, If he’s anything like me, he was dreaming about being a spy. My guess is, he was dreaming about sneaking into a high-class party for a terrorist dressed in a tuxedo but disguised in a giant cake. He then woke me up when he kicked his way out of said cake and cartwheeled across the dance floor to plant listening bugs under the terrorist’s table.