Letter of Truth: Second Spawn Addition (we mean Edition)
Hey ya'll!
It's Brit again! I guess that you all just totally forgot about me didn't you? You didn't hear anything about my sweet little baby hurting his head which was totally not done by my husband no matter what anyone says, and you didn't hear about that time that I went for a drive and just forgot to put that same sweet baby in his car seat BECAUSE I WAS TOO BUSY HUGGING MY BABY BECAUSE I AM JUST SUCH A GOOD MOM. Because if you heard about that, forget it, because it's not true, and even if it was, I am totally a good mom and it was the high chair's fault. All of it. The car, the fall, Kevin's cd--all totally the fault of the high chair. Because, ya'll, some things are just possessed. By evil.
But, ya'll, you know what's not possessed? My baby-maker! Or, maybe it is possessed, but not by the devil or incest puppies or anything, but by another little tiny baby, a little cute baby that's going to come out and be all cute and totally make SOME PEOPLE remember that if you get a lady pregnant TWICE that you are supposed to stay at home and not go to Vegas every night, even if your "doctor" is there (and by the way, my mom said that no real doctor ever prescribed Colt 45 for a migraine--SO THERE). Ya'll, I am so knocked up again, and this time, it's going to be so better than last time, because this time, I'll know what to do, and I'll know that I probably shouldn't drink all of those frappucinos at one time, and maybe that cowboy boots are not the best thing for pregnant swollen ankles. Ya'll, this time it's all going to be ok. This time every one will look at me, and not just creepy sculptors who lay around on bear skin rugs, but EVERYBODY, and by EVERYBODY, I mean, all of those people who look at Jessica Simpson now, and they will think that I am just such a good girl, and that no one should ever make me dance with a snake around my neck ever ever again. They will remember how cool I am, and that I can dance really, really good.
But, until this one is born and everyone starts thinking that again, I am going to hang out up here with Morgan, because she is fun and she makes chicken fingers from me, and she gets them all the way done so that they're not frozen in the middle still. It's better than being at home, where my mom just rocks back and forth all the time, and ole what's-his-name wastes time lighting funny smelling cigarettes with dollar bills. And little Sean, even though he is soooooooooooooo cute, he takes a lot of work, and sometimes I'm just not up to it, because ya'll, it is just hard. But having another one will make it all better. That's what I say. And so far, no one has told me any different.
So just know that Morgan is ok, and that she is busy with me, and that she may not get to post as much, but that is only because she works a lot, and then we have to spend our time shopping for the baby and eating deep fried Oreos and watching Crossroads over and over again. She still loves you, probably even more than she loves me, and she thinks of most of you all the time. Seriously. She does. Except when she's deep frying snacks. Because, ya'll, you shouldn't do anything while you're trying to deep fry. You could fracture your skull, and that's no joke.
Love ya'll,
Mrs. Federline
It's Brit again! I guess that you all just totally forgot about me didn't you? You didn't hear anything about my sweet little baby hurting his head which was totally not done by my husband no matter what anyone says, and you didn't hear about that time that I went for a drive and just forgot to put that same sweet baby in his car seat BECAUSE I WAS TOO BUSY HUGGING MY BABY BECAUSE I AM JUST SUCH A GOOD MOM. Because if you heard about that, forget it, because it's not true, and even if it was, I am totally a good mom and it was the high chair's fault. All of it. The car, the fall, Kevin's cd--all totally the fault of the high chair. Because, ya'll, some things are just possessed. By evil.
But, ya'll, you know what's not possessed? My baby-maker! Or, maybe it is possessed, but not by the devil or incest puppies or anything, but by another little tiny baby, a little cute baby that's going to come out and be all cute and totally make SOME PEOPLE remember that if you get a lady pregnant TWICE that you are supposed to stay at home and not go to Vegas every night, even if your "doctor" is there (and by the way, my mom said that no real doctor ever prescribed Colt 45 for a migraine--SO THERE). Ya'll, I am so knocked up again, and this time, it's going to be so better than last time, because this time, I'll know what to do, and I'll know that I probably shouldn't drink all of those frappucinos at one time, and maybe that cowboy boots are not the best thing for pregnant swollen ankles. Ya'll, this time it's all going to be ok. This time every one will look at me, and not just creepy sculptors who lay around on bear skin rugs, but EVERYBODY, and by EVERYBODY, I mean, all of those people who look at Jessica Simpson now, and they will think that I am just such a good girl, and that no one should ever make me dance with a snake around my neck ever ever again. They will remember how cool I am, and that I can dance really, really good.
But, until this one is born and everyone starts thinking that again, I am going to hang out up here with Morgan, because she is fun and she makes chicken fingers from me, and she gets them all the way done so that they're not frozen in the middle still. It's better than being at home, where my mom just rocks back and forth all the time, and ole what's-his-name wastes time lighting funny smelling cigarettes with dollar bills. And little Sean, even though he is soooooooooooooo cute, he takes a lot of work, and sometimes I'm just not up to it, because ya'll, it is just hard. But having another one will make it all better. That's what I say. And so far, no one has told me any different.
So just know that Morgan is ok, and that she is busy with me, and that she may not get to post as much, but that is only because she works a lot, and then we have to spend our time shopping for the baby and eating deep fried Oreos and watching Crossroads over and over again. She still loves you, probably even more than she loves me, and she thinks of most of you all the time. Seriously. She does. Except when she's deep frying snacks. Because, ya'll, you shouldn't do anything while you're trying to deep fry. You could fracture your skull, and that's no joke.
Love ya'll,
Mrs. Federline
posted by Southern Belle at 7:25 PM
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