Spend More Time Thinking...

Dinnertimes around here have become incredibly crazy.  Now that Baby Belle is eating food pretty regularly, it's not only another mouth to feed, but it's someone else to take care of at the dinnertable.  Yes, I'm complaining in case you were wondering.   Baby Belle's personality is certainly developing, and that happy, content, smiley little peanut...well...takes after her sisters a little more each day.  Fortunately, Baby Belle is FINALLY starting to eat SOME food from me, besides nursing. It has taken a long time.  She has absolutely no interest in babyfood.  Homemade or store bought, which actually makes things a lot easier.  All of this just means that her tummy is also taking a beating, and she has been suffering some really bad constipation lately, poor thing. But I'm totally getting off track here.

Back to dinnertimes in general.

Ugh.

I may have mentioned before what a great tag team the hubs and I make, but I feel the need to reiterate that here.  Dinner preparations are that much more tolerable when you have a partner to share the chaos with.  And since I generally abhore (yes, that strongly) cooking I take all the comraderie I can get at this time.

On tonight's menu:  Italian Sausages in pita bread, spaetzle, salad, (cucumbers for girls one and two) peaches and avocado for number three.  I took care of the salad and the girls' foods and Chris cooked the rest.  Hooray!  Clara Belle was under foot the whole time but had to be put back in her seat a dozen times when dinner was actually ready; Big Belle fell asleep on the couch 10 minutes before dinner (her new routine) and rousing her requires hand grenades, I handed that job off to Daddy, he handles it much better than me.  Plus, she's getting heavy.

Clara Belle is in her seat, finally, and I moved Baby Belle to her highchair -- after forcibly extracting Clara Belle -- then it was time to sit down.  I hadn't cut up the girls' sausage prior to this, so cut away I did.  I'm cutting and passing out and feeding Baby Belle and handing things over and doing this and that and this and that squirting ketchup and pausing to lick sausage juice off my arm and --

<cue record scratch>

wait a minute.

THAT WASN'T SAUSAGE JUICE ON MY ARM.

And Baby Belle is no longer constipated.

What makes this even more amazing to me, is that never in my life would I even CONSIDER licking something off of my arm, or anywhere else for that matter.  What lead my brain to think just THEN would be a good time to start such a habit, I do not know.