I woke up this morning and I was very hungry (despite having eaten two cookies practically in my sleep during pregnant pee breaks), so I got up and put food in the dogs bowl and ate a big helping of cheerios in my underwear. And then I went back to bed, which was pretty lovely until Mr. Llama came in and told me he was going to work so have a great day and let him know if I go into labor because he'll come right back.
At this point I think I remember mumbling something about not tempting me, to which he responded, "As if you have control over that." I was very deeply wounded by this because right now I am super uncomfortable and Baby Llama has found a way to simultaneously head-butt my downstairs and kick my ribs 24/7, which I assure you, is not lovely in the least. So I'm understandably broken up about not being able to induce labor at will with the power of my mind, and having my lack of instant labor talent rubbed in my face like that made me a teensy bit weepy but mostly sleepy, so I closed my eyes and willed it all away and may have started to snore, but I'm not sure because Mr. Llama wasn't there to observe and report because he was (as previously mentioned) leaving for work.
Unfortunately, the sleepy times were short lived, because half an hour later I got a call from Mr. Llama letting me know that some unassailed personage had riffled through our (probably left unlocked) car the night before and made off with our emergency kit. I wish this undisclosed hooligan the best of luck with some pregnant woman's jumper cables and hope he feels uncontrollable guilt at having pilfered them from a car with a freshly installed car seat and lots of old gas receipts before falling into a fitful and pee break riddled sleep tonight.
I couldn't stop thinking about our car long enough to fall back asleep after that, so instead I played Candy Crush Saga (have you made it past level 65?!) and cruised around facebook until my stomach told me I was hungry again and I got up to eat a blueberry flavored greek yogurt and agonize over what to call this new blog. As it turns out "lovelyllama" is already taken by some sort of farm where they breed real live llamas, and therefore it could not be used to chronicle the life of a 38 weeks pregnant (please get this baby out of me!) housewife with too much time on her hands and a flatulent bulldog sidekick. So instead of being all the way lovely I am mostly lovely, which you know what, I'm mostly okay with, because not everything is sunshiny every minute of every day, and it would be dishonest of me to pretend otherwise. Llamas are cute and cuddly and super adorbz, but they also spit, you guys. Not that I'm going to spit at you because gross. It's just a euphemism.
Now because I haven't had a chance to take any super cute pictures of myself and Mr. Llama and Llama Dog lately, instead you get to look at this picture of a pretty unfortunate looking, but so unfortunate looking its actually cute, llama. Pretend its me for now, because honestly, its what I feel like lately anyway.
Holler if you have any suggestions for getting this Baby Llama to make her grand entrance before I commit some sort of major crime trying to get her out!