ridiculous

You know what's ridiculous? Baby socks. They're just so little. So little and tiny. And so little and tiny and so cute. I love them. Fuzzy socks, striped socks, polka dot socks, giraffe socks, big socks, little socks (yes! too little! they don't even fit any more!), socks that look like mary janes.

I have always prided myself on my baby sock handling skills. Namely, on laundry day. I mean, my big old socks, and John's big old socks, seem to sneak away from Dryerville at the first opportunity, leaving us is a mis-matched sock world. But not so with Luciya's socks! Oh ho-ho no, I have never lost one single teeny tiny little sock in the wash.

That is, until a few weeks ago. Okay, it's been a month now. But I have been holding off with hope in my heart, intent that the FOUR SOCKS that disappeared from ONE LOAD of wash will rear their fuzzy, yellow, polka-dotted, and pink (respectively) heads. Er, feet. I didn't lose two pair of socks (I probably wouldn't even notice that). I lost FOUR SOCKS from four pairs of socks.

I was quite frustrated for a while (this happened just after Labor Day weekend) but then I just shoved three of the socks into the yellow sock and it turns out I now have an excellent duster for my dresser.

You know what else is ridiculous? My hair. Or lack thereof. Or - perhaps more appropriately - abundance thereof. On the furniture, the floor, Luciya's fingers, my clothes, John's clothes, the bathtub. So long, thick abundant pregnancy hair. Hello (or goodbye?) flimsy strands and handfuls.

Ridiculous.