Living Dangerously

I rip (not just cut) the tags off my pillows. I know the Feds are after me.
I have loose items in my car that could be projectiles in an accident. I’ve read Baby Bargains in which they advise parents not to buy toys for the car seat because they’ll be projectiles. They are kidding, right? Am I supposed to bolt down my purse, the sippy cups, the Cheerios, and the wipe box?
My son licks the sidewalk. I figure God made immune systems, so they’ll do their job, right?
I have licked straws that fell on an airport terminal floor under the delusion of the 3-second-rule and the antibacterial properties of Mommy-spit.
I don’t remember the last time I was at the dentist. I floss and brush like a fiend, but I just haven’t gotten around to it.
I’ve heard more speeches on “You should wash your hands” than any other human speech teacher. And while I’m really good about washing my hands every time I should, I’m lousy at completing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” while doing so. It takes too long. I heard the same speech in one class period (oops!) even, and the second student recommended singing the “ABCs.” Still too long. (Psst — it’s the same song!)
I’m actually enjoying being under the radar with the medical community thus far in this pregnancy. No poking and peeking yet. But next week Tuesday is our first glimpse of this little life. I pray all is well.

6 thoughts on “Living Dangerously”