But life must go on. Surely there are other gadgets by which we are amused. One in every room, though I'll steer clear of the bedroom. Wouldn't want to scare ya.
In the kitchen is my blessed potato peeler. Or is it a carrot peeler? Or is it a cucumber peeler? Catch my drift? Love it.
Then there is the bathroom, home to the Q-tip. The Irish call it a cotton bud and I find that so much more appropriate--loving, really. I could do a whole blog on 50 ways to use a Q-tip. Don't dare me, I just might. Love 'em.
More than five years ago, I discovered one cherished gadget while eight months pregnant with Babydoll. That was back when I was delusional in thinking having children meant nothing had to change short of giving up alcohol and my dream of wanting to take up smoking. No. Not, really. But I did think I could carry on as if my children might be of the Just Add Water and Watch Them Grow, no-help-needed kind.
And should anyone doubt my stark-raving mad ideas, I kept to all things normal and active until at 42weeks pregnant my doctor grilled me on how I could lose my water two days prior and not know? (In fairness, I HAD never been pregnant before, and well, that late in the biological game, things were always going on that shouldn't be. How WAS I to know?)
So I was active. I golfed. See Exhibit A and B below.
I golfed up to the end. Big deal. The even bigger deal was the gadget. Yes, back to the point. My fabulous gadget. I link to a newer version. My golf-ball-picker-upper varies in that it is a simple suction grip thingy at the end of the club. Oh how I love it. Squat and hiney hoist no more. It was ideal while sporting
a basketball Babydoll on my front. And still ideal.
In fact, I used it this evening as DH and I played nine holes of golf under a gorgeous red sky(again, blog for another time).
By the way, it was two months and four therapy sessions later that I began to accept my new lifestyle post children.
Trust me, reality set in. See Exhibit C below.
During my pregnancy with Cutiepie, the only golf ball I saw was rolling aimlessly in the car trunk.