I write letters to Ellen DeGeneres. No particular reason. Just because I can.
The kids are playing in the basement. Husband is snoring on the futon and the newborn (A.K.A. millennial #3) is asleep in the pack ‘n play. I’ll have to make this quick!
This morning my husband dropped me off at Target so I could buy more diapers for the baby. I grabbed the box of diapers, paid the cashier and loaded the diapers into the minivan. As my husband pulled out of the parking lot I had a Jean-Luc-Picard-face-palm moment.
Me: “Oh my god! I didn’t get diapers for the Millennial #3!”
Husband: What do you mean? What was the box you put in the car?
Me: Nighttime diapers for the older kids.
Husband: I thought the whole point was to get diapers for the baby.
Me: (massaging my temples as I sighed.) It was.
Husband: So why did you buy diapers for Bobo and Baby Girl?
Me: Yup. I’ve been buying diapers for Bobo and Baby Girl a whole lot longer than I have Millennial #3.
Sigh. Well, Ellen, this wasn’t anywhere near as bad as the other morning when I put garlic powder in my coffee because I mistook it for sweetener. Sleep deprivation sucks!
Ellen, if my mom asks, please let her know I’m still working on the blog post we’ve been talking about. I need longer than five minutes to write it.