BlogHer Publishing Network contacted me today and asked if this little blog can be a part of their network!
I’m not entirely sure what this means yet, but … IAMSOEXCITED.
BlogHer Publishing Network contacted me today and asked if this little blog can be a part of their network!
I’m not entirely sure what this means yet, but … IAMSOEXCITED.
… that you should steer clear of your new co-worker:
1. She has a Beanie Baby collection.
2. Her cubicle is decorated with stuffed animals.
3. You learn (on day two) that she practices witchcraft.
4. She talks loudly. And closely. To your face.
I could go on with this list, but I think I’ve listed more than enough red flags to signal STEER CLEAR.
Something about the insurance industry seems to attract odd characters. Or maybe it’s just my particular office … because we have a lot of them.
It seems that despite everything I currently have going on, I still cannot bring myself to show up to a function with store bought confections. Nope. On Friday night, I stayed up until 10 pm (THAT IS VERY LATE FOR ME … I CAN HEAR YOU SNICKERING.) making something resembling this:
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It’s stupid. I don’t have a problem with store bought cake. I knew when I was undertaking this task, that it was ridiculous. “Put your feet up and rest,” I told myself. “Go to bed. You’ve been up since 5 a.m.” But I couldn’t do it. I HAD TO MAKE THAT CAKE.
When Husband got home, he took one look at me and said “You look funny out of your eyes.”
I later realized (while laying in bed trying to go to sleep) I really do have a problem. I actually think I owe myself $80, because that is how much the therapist I saw postpartum would have charged me to diagnose my behavior.
I have MPD. That’s Misplaced Perfectionism Disorder. I made that up. It’s not a real disorder, but I think that is what drives me to undertake pointlessly difficult tasks for no good reason. Why do I spend an hour getting ready in the morning? Insist on keeping the house clean? Why can’t I just let my house be dirty?!?!?!? I WANT TO LET IT BE DIRTY, BUT I JUST CAN’T.
Perhaps it’s just simple pride that drives me. I don’t want to accept that I have limitations. I want to do what I want to do, swollen ankles be damned.
I’ll mull that over while I am spending the $80 I just collected from myself.
Dear Random People Who View My Pregnant State As An Opportunity To Start A Conversation That I Do Not Wish To Have:
Yes, I am planning to have a natural birth.
I realize it’s going to hurt. There is no need to remind me … I’ve had one child already, with an epidural that wore off by the time I really needed it, and I pushed for two hours. I am no stranger to pain. I do not fear it. I do find it odd that you, person who is not facing the realities of childbirth, are so fearful for me.
Also–and you’ll need to prepare yourself, this may shock you–there is no need for you to inform me. I am a second-time mother, with a college education and a penchant for books and online research via the Google. I am quite informed. Do not let my smile and blonde hair fool you. I read stuff.
Lastly, you can keep your opinions on topics such as breastfeeding to yourself. I only discuss breast milk with a few people on this Earth. You are not one of them.
Thank You,
Harmony