Check, Check, Check

I usually like the word "check". It seems like an efficient little word. You use it as you are clearing off your things to do list. Did I do this? Check. Did I do this? Check. Ah, accomplishment.

I also like the payment kind of check. Those are always fun to get as well. Who doesn't love depositing or cashing a check? No one, I tell you. We can all get together on at least that one.

But, this other kind of check I think should be called something else. I don't know what word to use, but certainly something not as fun as "check". Yup. I'm there. I have to be "checked" at the doctor once a week now. It's fine. It's fine. Good information, at least. Although, if the good man doesn't tell me that I'm at like a 53, I can't vouch for his personal safety.

To mark the blessed occasion, Bo came over to give us all pedi's. We were thinking that if I had cute toes, I could use my feminine wiles to convince the doctor to just admit me right there on the spot. Or, at least I wouldn't be embarrassed by the toes that I haven't seen in about 4 months. Isn't she thoughtful? We love Bo.

Check, check, check, check, and check. She got us all. Even Harrison, until he got too wiggly and spread dark blue polish all over the carpet. Then he was done. But the rest of us have lovely toes complete with dainty little flowers. We tried to get a picture of my feet, but they have taken a cue from my belly and are far too swollen to fit into any regular camera lens. Tree trunk comes to mind. As does disgusting, inhuman, and just gaping jawed silence. This has got to end soon. Everyone be thinking big numbers.

Thanks, Bo. This helps so much with my "I look ridiculous" attitude.