Superhuman

I have a feeling our daughter is destined to inherit her mother's appetite for clothing. I'm okay with it. I'm coming to terms with it. I'm frightened. Hold me.

We are in the final stages of moving upstairs. This morning I hauled everything from Julie's closet to some racks in a room that will become her Carrie Bradshaw walk-in closet.

It's great because this is a room that I will eventually never enter. And my clothes fit nicely in our new bedroom, so yippee. Anyway, when she woke up, I eagerly showed her my handiwork. She was pleased, but then said, "Am I missing a jean jacket?"

"Holy mother of--"

"What?"

"You see those several hundred articles of clothing?"

"I want breakfast."

"Focus, preggo."

"Yes, it's a lot of clothes."

"Well, your jean jacket is literally the only thing that remains downstairs."

"So?"

"You glanced at everything you own and casually mentioned the one missing article. Anything else you want to tell me? Do you bend spoons?"

I shouldn't publicize this about her. I don't want Sylar showing up.