Before I got pregnant, "laundry day" meant wearing my oldest, saddest underwear. Lately, laundry day has taken on a new meaning when it comes to underwear. It means wearing my smallest pair, which dig into my hips and make me uncomfortable. On Friday night (aka laundry day) I had been lying on the couch for a while, feeling uncomfortable and putting off the inevitable - a trip to pee. I finally kicked the cat off my lap and went. While in the bathroom, I took off my underwear in a fit of rage and put my yoga pants back on.
A conversation yesterday:
Jeff: Um, do you want to tell me anything about why there's a pair of underwear on the floor in the downstairs bathroom?
Me: Ah, it's a long story...
Jeff: Nothing, I just hope that story ends with someone picking up their undies and putting them in the laundry basket upstairs.
Me: Yeah, me too.