Thus saith the breast pump

This is why I really need to figure out a way to get paid for blogging: I usually feel too guilty to blog (for fun and comments) when I could be spending this time editing (for money). Then when I do blog I'm in a hurry so the result is basically "Dear Diary, today I blah blah blahed." I have got to figure out a way to make this work, but without ads, per No. 43 on my list.

Deep thoughts for the day:

- Do other moms hear their breast pump talking to them? Mine says everything from "Bravo" to "Repent" to "Winnipeg," depending on the speed.

- Why do little old couples who recycle get to me like they do? On Wednesday evening runs I see lots of them walking their bins out to the street and for some reason it seems so sweet. The world has changed so much in their lifetimes, but they're going with the flow. Then again, maybe the principle of recycling is actually more natural to people who lived through the Great Depression than it is to the rest of us. Sour cream? Whipped topping? I Can't Believe It's Not Butter? Every grandmother I know reuses these containers.

- If I'm not a fan of frilly baby clothes, why do I think it's so cute that Claire's wearing a tutu right now? And why is she wearing it in the first place? I mean, she didn't dress herself.


- We are so, so lucky to have an abundance of family and friends to help out with Claire! I already knew that but I realized it all over again when I reread my last post. (Yes! Sometimes I procrastinate so much that I read my own blog.) Be warned: If you offer to babysit, we will take you up on it. (Amy learned this the hard way yesterday, and Carrie's going to as soon as I finish writing this!)