… is on the way!

My sweet mother-in-law is coming tomorrow to stay with us for the weekend and I can’t even tell you how happy I am about it. I. Need. Help.

More like, I just need someone in my house to distract the Toddler so I can take a shower in peace, or run a few errands without having to haul him in and out of the car. For the past few months, Husband has worked every single Saturday and almost always doesn’t get home until well after 9:00 p.m. during the week, so it’s pretty much just me and Toddler all the time. I think we could both use a little change of pace.

I am going to nap. I am going to make a trip to Home Depot, and maybe even … THE MALL. I am going on a date with Husband, that strange man we see once or twice a week. It’s going to be so freakin’ fabulous.

Happy Thursday!

Last night, after a long day of parenting, we fed our kid some french fries, washed him down, struggled through bedtime book reading and the recitation of “if you come out of your room, you’ll get a spanking” … and then … finally, at 7 p.m. Husband and I collapsed into a heap. 

We laid there and stared at the ceiling. My ears were ringing because after a day of nonstop noise, it was finally quiet.

Two seconds later, the doorbell rang. 

Our porch light wasn’t on. I was annoyed before I even got down the stairs to see who it was. Who could possibly be ringing our bell at this hour (I know … 7:00 … I fear I’ve become a sad person)?!?

It was two teenage girls bearing backpacks, braids, and name tags. They wanted to know if I would like to hear about Christ.

Now, I can respect that. I’m a God-fearer. But I had just put my kid to bed, and I was flat out of patience and niceness. Also, in all honesty, door-to-door people of any sort make me uncomfortable. I wanted to rid myself of them as soon as possible.

I heard them out, forced a smile, said “we’re good,” and bid them goodnight. One of them stopped me and asked if we knew of anyone who needed to hear the Word. I mumbled something about how I don’t really know my neighbors. They just stared at me, so I shouted a cheery “GOOD LUCK!” before I closed the door.

Then I felt guilty. But really, the last thing I needed was to have two 16-year-olds in my living room sharing the good news. I know the news, thank you. 

What I needed, I decided, was a cocktail.

Now I’m trying to decide what kind of person that makes me; to dismiss two missionary-types and wish for a cocktail, then be annoyed that I’m pregnant and cannot partake. Perhaps I needed some good news after all.

Happy Friday!

Thank you to each and every one of you for taking the time to read my blog. I got an unprecedented number of hits yesterday and I want everyone to know how important you are!

Feel free to share any feedback, good or bad. My pictures suck? Tell me. Sick of hearing about pregnancy? Let me know! Don’t let me run amuck here …

Thanks and please come back!

I wish to discuss the power of the female hormone. Specifically, the power that it has over ME.

You see … I’m pregnant. But before that, I had PMS.

Generally speaking, I have the kind of PMS that takes control of my life for 1-2 days. I’m like a woman possessed. One minute I’m driving down the road, screaming at everyone who gets in my way, and the next I’m parked at Sonic with a Reese Peanut Butter Cup Sonic Blast with extra chocolate syrup in my hand. I don’t know how it happens. I don’t recall making the decision to stop, or even order.

Read the rest at birminghammommy.com!!

Did anyone else see this on Sunday night?!

Photo from http://www.justjared.buzznet.com.

Cee-Lo Green, Gwyneth Paltrow, and some Muppets performed his song F*ck You (they changed it to “Forget You” for general consumption). I noticed a lot of people talking about how much they hated it on Facebook, but I. LOVED. IT.

I think it might have been the Muppets that got me. Husband and I sat on the couch GLUED to the TV. We couldn’t look away. We didn’t speak the whole time. 

It was like watching a carnival. I consider that a compliment.

Today, I’m pissed off. There are a long list of reasons why, but the primary reasons are:

1. I’m pregnant.
2. I’m tired. 

Yesterday I came home to a wreck of a house after going to the grocery store in the POURING rain. I was exhausted by the time I picked up the Toddler and made it home — BUT — I made two lasagnas from scratch without a recipe, put away three (YES THREE) loads of laundry, changed the sheets on our stupid king-size bed and dealt with an unruly Toddler who refused to go to sleep until 8 p.m.

I woke up today thinking surely things would be better today. They aren’t.

My husband won’t eat the lasagna I made. It really makes me mad because I put extra cheese AND real meat in it just for him. My child also refuses to eat it. If I were a so-so cook, I’d understand. But I know good food … and this stuff is good. 

Today I came home to a sink full of dishes, a dryer full of (crumpled) whites that I was too tired to fold yesterday, and laundry that still needs to be hung up. And for some reason, all of that coupled with the fact that no one will eat my f*#king lasagna just REALLY PISSES ME OFF.

The thing about hormones is … they make you act irrationally. When I reached my peak of irritation, about 10 minutes into repeating “no, you’re not getting a sandwich for dinner, lasagna is your dinner,” I had a moment where I considered turning in my resignation at my “real” job so I can get a handle on my “second” job as a wife and mother.

I’m failing, I’m fat, and I’m angry. There you have it.

P.S. Guess what I’ve been craving?

… but still effective.

This weekend …

My son learned how cool it is to wear cowboy boots. He learned this from his grandpa, who owns several pairs.

He’s wearing some now.

I may have hit some sort of Pregnant Mother of a Two-Year-Old rock bottom. I flipped out in front of my family, spanked my child, and yelled at my husband. None of that is unusual, but this time it was in front of an audience.

I was so mad, I didn’t care.

I folded up all of my regular jeans and stored them away for a time in the very distant future when I can button them comfortably.

I am obsessed with blueberries. And blackberries. And yogurt, and strawberries, and parfaits. And food, in general.

The Toddler has started saying “oh goodness,” which he learned from me. It’s really dorky. Someone should have told me to stop saying that before now.