OH MY GOD I CAN'T STOP TALKING ABOUT POOPIES, BINKIES AND MY OWN BODY PARTS.

I always hit a point in a maternity leave when I begin to disgust myself with a serious lack of anything interesting to say.

Mark usually calls me once or twice a day to check in and, God help him, listen to me babble about when Sweet Pea ate, pooped and even what color the poop was.

Sometimes, I throw in mundane tidbits about my personal hygiene for a little variety.

"You know, I've got an eyelash that's grown down into my left eye. Can you believe it? Every time I put my contacts in, that little lash irritates and bothers me so. Do you think I should try to pluck it? I mean, that'd hurt pretty bad, right? To pluck an eyelash with tweezers? What do you think I should do? Pluck it or leave it and hope it gets better? It's driving me crazy."

Oh my gawd. I annoy even myself.

When I'm not talking about what's happening in my own living room, I chat about my new friends: Patti, Tabatha and whoever was featured on Biography. (This week I'm feeling particularly close to John Mellencamp.)

Living vicariously though the characters on daytime TV is not healthy, I know, but trust me, their lives are so much more interesting than mine right now.

It's not that I want to go back to work quite yet -- believe me, I'm not ready. But I just don't quite like staring at these walls either.

I'm tired of the laundry baskets and bottle washing, but if I turn my back on these chores for a nanosecond, I'll be hopelessly behind and then you'll just hear me add complaining into the mix.

Life's a little limited when you're living it in 2 to 3 hour intervals of Baby Time -- not that I'm complaining.

When I hold Sweet Pea in my arms and listen to her soft coos, there's no place I'd rather be.


So for now, I'll resign myself to the fact that my life is boring -- and that sometimes, that's a good thing.