I had such big plans. I was going to spend an entire day at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. The last time I was there, I was four months pregnant and still suffering from all-day "morning" sickness. I also had a whiny four year old with me and my choice to wear semi-fashionable shoes over comfortable ones pretty much made me want to amputate my own feet by the end of the visit. I didn't get to see everything I wanted to see and I'd planned to take it all in this time.
Even though I'm not a fan of the genre, I was going to get a ticket to Wicked just to see how someone could turn that book into a musical. I was going to ride the train by myself to go see our friends and their new(ish) baby in Bronx. I was going to read a book in Central Park and enjoy the sound of silence. Well, as much silence as is possible in Central Park. And Ryan and I were going to eat several dinners in a row at nice restaurants where no one asked us to cut up their meat or threw sippy cups full of milk across the table.
But, alas, I will be at home changing diapers and refereeing arguments between my two older children. Sigh. I suppose I will live to play Carrie Bradshaw another day.
Speaking of nuts (well, not really, but it is the title of this post so I'm going to use it as my segue), Evan is thankfully not allergic to peanuts. Or walnuts. Or dairy. Or soy. His blood work does indicate that he could have a slight reaction to egg whites, so we'll keep an eye on that, but thank goodness he doesn't have a peanut allergy. I honestly don't know how