I Don’t Wear Crazy Well.

It seems I have reached the point in my pregnancy when I turn psycho. It happens every single time.

It usually starts when I begin having recurrent dreams about Husband cheating on me or rejecting me in some way. Last night I dreamt that I was trying to put the moves on him and he stopped me and said, “I’m bored. Also, I have to pee. Can you please move?” 

I woke up feeling super upset — I mean, he said he was BORED — and even after I told him about the dream and he laughed, which made me realize it was ridiculous to even repeat it out loud, I was still mad at him for what he did to me in my dream. That hurt my feelings, and he better make it up to me the next time he shows up in one of my wacky ass pregnancy dreams. Bring me flowers or tell me something nice, and for goodness sake … pee first, Dream Version of Husband. 

Also, last night you looked too mountain mannish. Next time I’d like a little less of that and a little more of this:

Thank you in advance.

As I grow larger, it literally seems like we are drifting farther and farther apart. Luckily, this time has been the easiest on us because we know what to expect and how to behave, unlike when I was pregnant with ONE. We were blissfully unaware that I would turn psychotic, and when the crazy began Husband did not respond well.

I remember one time my mother-in-law stopped at our house to stay overnight while she was traveling for work, and a few days later I found a hotel key buried under some magazines on the coffee table. I knew it was not Husband’s lost hotel key. I knew there was a rational explanation, like it was left on accident by my mother-in-law. That did not stop me from acting like a complete freak when he got home. There was definitely an interrogation.

It was not my finest hour.

I share all of this because making fun of my irrationality is the best way for me to cope with it. And I know Husband loves me, because he bought me a minivan yesterday. I mean, if there was another woman, would he buy her a minivan?! I don’t think so. She would probably just get grocery store flowers, but I got a VAN, bitches.

Of course, when I tell Husband that I’m worried he is going to get sick of me and find someone else who is:

1. Fun
2. Not pregnant
3. Fun,

He always gives me this very serious look and says, “I could never, ever handle more than one of you,” meaning, I suppose, that women are a handful and he can barely deal with the one. To which I say, “Good thinking.”

I have many more months left of abnormal behavior: 15 more weeks of gestation, and a good 12 weeks to recalibrate after that. That’s a very long stretch of crazy that we all have to look forward to. And so, I will do what makes sense and try my best to embrace it.

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