It wasn't me-- I swear!

Fun tidbit of my day: I was holding Gav in my arms this afternoon while trying to leave an important voice-mail message for someone I don't know so well. While leaving said message, he farted atleast 4 times in a row. REALLY loud. Definitely loud enough to have been left on the voice-mail message. The person for whom I was leaving the message has no clue that I have kid(s). Excellent!

This pretty much sums up their relationship.

Peep show in the 'burbs...

TRUE STORY: About an hour ago, I reluctantly got up from nursing Gav to answer a (ferocious), persistent knock at the door. Upon opening the door, there stood an incredibly sketchy, incredibly sweaty, incredibly plump guy from a tree-cutting service. He had apparently been doing work at the neighbor's house and said that he could give me a "great deal" if he did some tree work for me today. Said sketchy, sweaty, plump tree guy seemed a little too eager to persuade me to employ his services, despite my firm "we have a new baby/no money/not interested" speech, AND the tiny newborn baby squirming in my arms. He persisted & persisted until I basically shut the door in his face with an abrupt "Thanks but no thanks, bye!"
As I walked away from the door, baby in my arms, it suddenly felt conspicuously drafty. This is the really neat point in the story where I realize that I hadn't properly secured my nursing gown, and my massive, engorged right boob was hanging out the ENTIRE TIME.
Only in the 'burbs, folks. Only in the 'burbs...