Bubbles

My husband took all three kids to grandma's house so I could get some rest since I've been fighting the Ick for a few weeks. I barely know what to do. If I could have had him take the dog and two cats along, my house would be perfectly quiet, if only for a few hours. The TV is off, no music, no anything. My body will be missing my baby in a few hours but that's what a breast pump is for.

You better believe the bath is running. I haven't taken a bubble bath for five or six months, pretty much since I could lift my own weight out of the tub. Showers are faster and can be managed while Bella naps. Baths are luxury time and I usually can find ten other things to do in that time. See, the gears just started up already. Must. Stop. Thoughts. Of. Cleaning. Going to take a bath, light some candles, finish my book. Since I'm supermom and could do all of the above in ten minutes or less, I'm pretty sure I'll have time for a nap.

Sadly, the only source of fire I could find for my Stargazer Lily Yankee Candle was a lighter from Las Vegas. Shaped like a headless, legless woman (a feminist pisser all on its own), it was a stag gift from my father-in-law that, when opened, has flashing lit boobies and it makes porn-gasm noises. Sigh.