God help us all
One of my friends at work is 12 weeks pregnant, and yesterday she admitted that the infamous Pregnancy Brain is setting in already. She said it's driving her nuts because she's usually not an absentminded person.
Tonight I came home from work, greeted the dog, and -- like always -- fed the cat. I got a can from the shelf, opened it, and spooned some delicious kitty cuisine onto his plate*. Then I put a lid on the leftovers in the can, set his plate carefully aside, carried the capped can to the office where he eats, leaned over the gate, and set it down. The worst part? I didn't even notice anything was amiss until the cat ran in to eat, saw the can, and looked at me like I was losing my mind. And I'm not even knocked up.
Reading: Inkheart by Cornelia Funke
Playing: the Stardust and Iron Man soundtracks
* Yes, the cat eats from a plate. That's what he used at his first owner's house, and we thought it would be good to be consistent. Like the cat is some kind of culinary snob and gives two shits how his food is presented.