Goodbye, Hider of Hooters

Before Spacebags.

This is pretty much every piece of clothing that has, or will fit one of my children. Ever.

Another fine part of fall break is the cleaning, AKA “dunging out” that gets done. We totally cleared out our storage shed, re-evaluated our food storage and rearranged the whole shebang. This meant I spent ALL of Saturday sorting through clothes; past, present and future. Eeee-gads!! Because I cannot yet say that I am 100% done having kids, I still feel the need to save for babies. (note: someone will be getting a really nice loot of infant clothing, boy and girl, if we don’t have anymore) So I sorted, and folded and sorted some more. Then I packed them in the greatest invention ever: The Spacebag. LOVE these things. (I like to say them like "Piiigs Iiiin Spaaaace" from the Muppet Show. But I think they mean space, like more room. Not like, you can take them to the moon.) You can take, like two tubs of clothes and “poof” they are now one! I think they work better if you just shove things in there. But I’m worried that if I die before they are inflated, the relief society sisters who sort through all my junk will see that I shoved-not folded. Oh, how horrific. I think I heard my poor friend Jenny squeal and run for her life as she passed through the “sorting zone.” (Sorry Jenny.)

After Spacebags. Now off to the bins and into the shed. Adios!

If you have seen me in the last nine months, I have most likely had this beauty with me. I made it just before Chubby was born. I wasn't sure I would like it. Like it?! I LOVE it! I have no idea how I nursed three other kids without one. Good-bye, my trusty friend. Thanks for keep everyone safe from my milk jugs, I know they are a little too National Georaphically scary. You were great. Until we meet again...(maybe) Goodbye.



I packed one VERY important item away this weekend. “Farewell, oh hider of hooters. You have done so well by me. Farewell.” I am officially weaning Chubby. I hate to do it, but the time has come. He will be 9 months this week and due to some of my own health issues, I must. (These health issues are also known as: hefer-itis, chub-a-rella, boom-baba-ness, and holy cow! What happened to you?!) I HAVE to go on a diet. I really am, really, I swear…Oooh, is that an onion ring? Onion rings are veggies, right?




At any rate, I hate weaning my babies. I have some weird thing about nursing. In the beginning of each childs life, it practically kills me every time, but I insist on doing it. And then when it’s time to quit, I hate it. I am sad, depressed and feel like I am letting down my little chubbles. But I have got to get a grip on my body, ASAP. I mean, it’s a lot of work to get back into super-model shape. They won’t renew my contract if I don’t look sweet in my bikini before the sports illustrated shoots, I mean really. Juuuuust, kidding. But, I do have a lot of work to do. And so, I must wean my little one. I, very unfortunately, am not one of those horrid people who “just can’t seem to keep any weight on” while I am nursing. I am the “every, single, gawl-derned calorie must permanently move in and plaster itself all over my body” while I am nursing, kind of person. So I swear, I really am going to get serious. Really.



But not until I mourn just a little more. And every time I nurse Chubby I say, this is the last day. And then, okay – now, today is the last day. I know I’m a nut-bar, but I just love that quiet time together. (many of you know that I have been saying this for months now) There are always SO many things going on in a busy house like ours, that just to sit and hold him while he eats means so much to me. He pats my face, and puts his hand in my mouth. And I kiss his terribly fat cheeks. Oh, he’s so squishy and lovable. But alas, the time has come.