It isn't my fault I burned my tongue on the hot-out-of-the oven pina colada cake. It smelled soooo good and the baby said he needed a bite RIGHT NOW. And who am I to say no to a little guy who is just trying his best to grow and get fat? What kind of mother would I be?
I spend a majority of time in yoga pants, which I should not be blamed for. After all, if the makers of maternity clothing understood how hard it is to keep pants on a round belly, maybe they would be a little more innovative. And my pants always feel tight...maybe it is the dessert options at my house.
It really isn't my fault that your feet stick to my floors. You see, it is getting really hard to mop them. And mopping takes time and I am currently spending every moment sans children (read: nap time) sleeping. Or finding things to eat. Just keep your shoes on and you will be fine.
All the half completed project around my house? Well I keep waiting for this nesting thing to kick in but seem to loose motivation about half way through. And Matt keeps going to work instead of following me around and finishing what I start like he does on the weekends. So really, I blame Samsung.
Eating jello salad straight from the pan? The baby made me do it. Sleeping in until 9? The baby's fault. Convincing Eliana it is her job to take her baby sister potty? Totally her brothers fault, I just can't hustle to the bathroom like her fast little 6 year old legs can. Hours spent pinning random crap on Pinterest? Well, for that I blame my friends. If they didn't have good taste I wouldn't feel the need to see what they pinned. So you see, it isn't really my fault.