Hadley on “How to Become a Millionaire”

Don’t go into shock but I waxed domestic today. Well, kind of. Our kitchen chairs have been in dire need of a makeover so my gracious mother-in-law offered to “help” (which, in Amber-domestic-speak means “do”). She even dragged me into a fabric store last week and I didn’t kick and scream even once. Progress, my friends.

Really, the part that sucked the most was ripping out all the staples. Then, as soon as Linda reached for the staple gun to apply our new fabric, Hadley started freaking out. She’s not scared of too many things but that blessed little girl wailed every time the gun resounded. Linda suggested I remove her from the situation and go buy some Scotch Guard while she finished up the job. I eagerly agreed but not before I slipped Haddie $5 for her timely performance.

We then condescended to The Land of Temptation. Y’see, the Devil planted himself three blocks away from my house by way of a brand spankin’ new Super Target. I do not consider myself a shopper but it is physically impossible for me to enter that store without buying the place out. I’m still trying to figure out how to explain to Jamie that the can of Scotch Guard cost me $120.

One purchase I made is something I have been dreading. Something that no swollen pregnant lady should ever have to make: a house-sized tent. I think some people call them maternity bathing suits. I, of course, have no intention of being seen in public in this so-called tent but that did not lesson the painful experience. I don’t care who you are and if you have one of those disgustingly compact little bumps on your tummy while the rest of you remains skinny. The fact remains that NO PREGNANT WOMAN should ever wear a two-piece.

I opted for a simple black suit that only immediate family will ever witness in our backyard. Y’see, our recent 70-degree “heatwave” sent me straight to the store yesterday to buy a blow-up swimming pool wherein I can sit my bloated pregnant butt and wait out the summer. Hadley took one look at the busty, svelte model on the packaging and delightfully announced “Mommy!”


And I then slipped her another $5. At this rate, the kid will be a millionaire by her 3rd birthday.

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