6 Weeks, 6 Days

I made the strangest of phone calls tonight.
Honestly, I'm blaming you.
I would never, ever, do this on my own.

The call I placed was to your father.
And these were my exact words, "Would you think I was a crazy person if I asked you to pick up Kentucky Fried Chicken for dinner?"
He replied with a laugh, "No, I'd think you were pregnant."

Okay, baby, it's time for some tough love because WE DON'T EAT FRIED CHICKEN.
As a matter of fact, we don't eat fried things!
And to frequent a fast food establishment like KFC is just downright...shockingly BAD for this family!

What is it you're after? 
The fat?
That would be my guess.
But, sweet pinto-bean-sized darling, fat comes in milkshakes and chocolate chip cookie dough also.
(Or avocados.  I could say that but if you're wanting fried chicken, I seriously doubt I'm going to sway you with a vegetable.)

So listen here.
We don't do fast food and there will be NO MORE KFC runs.
I will fight you tooth and nail next time because it was as disgusting as I remembered it being.
(Though the mashed potatoes were yummy.)

The kids were ASTOUNDED when Daddy walked into the house with like six bags of fast food yuck and to my dismay, they began cheering.
That's a slippery slope, sweet baby of mine.
You ask for beef and we're going to tangle.

Now...the veggie soup was a good choice, haven't had that in AGES!
And you keep asking for watermelon but it's the wrong season!  I promise that we will both eat our weight in juicy watermelon come summer time.
Besides, I'll be as big as one by then :)

Loving you already, fried chicken baby,
Mama