So it’s Thursday, aka Procrastination Day. I really need to write my Friday-drudgery-paper (but seriously, check out the time – 6:00 pm – we’re looking better this week) but instead am taking a procrastination break to write about the funniest conversation that just took place in our house.

Scene: Me, in the bathroom, washing my hands, and DB, coming into the bathroom and eagerly waiting for me to leave so he can utilize its services. Little, who always, is between us. (We only have one bathroom. I know, woe is us. It’s not a big deal.)

Me, looking at myself in the mirror: “DB, I really want a baby.” (This is not a new conversation.) “I saw a cute baby today, and I thought, awwww…I could do that. What a cute baby! Look, I’d hold it here (holding Air Baby on my hip, like a natural, I must say) and if it cried, I’d say, ‘hey, baby, don’t cry’. And I think we’d be cool parents!”

DB, eagerly waiting for me to move my rear end out of the bathroom: “Yeah, don’t worry!” (He was trying to chime in to talk to Air Baby, to build rapport and get me out of the bathroom. I didn’t understand what he was doing, so some clarifying conversation ensued.)

**When clarifying conversation was over, and I realized that he was only trying to temper Air Baby’s distress, and not say, “don’t worry” to my statement that we’d be cool parents or my desire for a child, we returned to the topic at hand – my clearly natural and instinctive maternal desires.**

Me: “I mean, I think I’d be a great teen mom.” (Referring to anniversary yesterday, when random-dude-in-coffee-shop, upon hearing that it was our *third* anniversary, said, “Woah, you do NOT look like you could be married. At all. Like, do you still get carded for alcohol?” My response: “Alcohol? I still get carded for R-rated movies!”)

Me: “Little, would I be a good teenage mother?” (Little looks up at me, expectantly. He associates any question directed to him as one which might involve him getting food.) “Do you want a little brother or sister?”

DB, talking for Little in a high pitched voice: “No, mommy. Please don’t have a little baby. They pull your ears and your tail and you won’t pay as much attention to me. I want to be your only child! Maybe adopt a teenager. They won’t take as much of your time away from me, your primary interest.”

Isn’t our dog so smart?

OK, now I’m back to reading dense, uninteresting (but I am supposed to find it interesting, which frightens me a bit) literature. Babies, babies, babies.

Our adorable bundle of joy on a road trip this past Christmas, checking out the hotel’s couch: