This weekend, we were cooped up in the house because of the icy, snowy weather and I was literally going out of my mind. On the third day, we went outside and played in the ice. My 2-year-old removed his mittens, and my husband declared them missing. So we came back inside.
This morning, I found the mittens.
They were stuffed in my gas tank.
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| The culprit. |
Today we are at home because the roads are impassable. We are literally iced in. So what do I plan to do?
I plan to make cookies, and then eat them.
Here is a list of things I will NOT be doing today:
1. Sitting in a cubicle listening to people bitch.
2. Cleaning the house.
3. Shaving my legs.
4. Getting out of my pajamas.
5. Trying to suck in my ever-growing belly.
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| Words of wisdom for Friday, January 7. |
I’m pregnant and I love to eat. This = a bad combination.
I was so hoping this time around I would be too sick to eat. Or maybe throw up every time I ate. That would be okay too. Either way, I was hoping not to pack on 10 pounds in my first trimester. That’s what happened when I was pregnant with #1.
So far, I’ve been a lot sicker, but it hasn’t deterred me from eating constantly. I find that snacking calms my stomach, and then I don’t throw up. I refuse to weigh myself and I told myself I wouldn’t stress about it, but as of yesterday I officially started to feel like a blimp.
I dislike the awkward part of pregnancy before you look pregnant. Just fat. I’m trying to embrace it.
If you’re a mom, and you think you might excessively Mom-Talk, take a gander at http://www.perezhilton.com. That will give you something else to discuss.
I’ve been fighting off illness since before Christmas, and finally … I gave in.
I’m sick. Like in-the-bed-all-day, coughing-up-a-lung, sick.
Let me tell you, parenting whilst ill is no easy task. The Toddler has been at daycare during the day so I have had peace and quiet to rest, but HOW do stay-at-home moms do it?!?!?!? Seriously. Someone, please tell me.
My arms are tired from typing now. I’m going to lie down.
Determined to prove that, even though I was a total bore the last time I was pregnant, my “condition” will not stop me from having a good time … I put on a party dress and went to a New Year’s Eve party last night.
Here is proof:
HOWEVER. Before this picture was snapped, I had on a very fancy navy blue dress that matched my husband’s tie. It took both Husband and my mother-in-law (and a pair of pliers) to zip said dress.
The zipper burst open.
After that, I suffered a claustrophobic panic and screamed that someone was going to have to cut me out of this stupid dress and OMG what am I going to wear?! Since my stupid boobs are already so freakishly huge that this navy blue dress won’t even fit?!?!?!
That is when Husband (after shredding my dress down the back so I could remove it from my body) found the plaid dress pictured above that I wore in Chicago last month. I literally had no other choice, so I wore it. And I tried to like it.
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| My bitches, from left to right: Anna, Courtney, and me. |
This is us. In a sea of party-goers who were wearing all black.
Typical.
I’m proud to say, I made it to midnight. I danced (sort of) under the balloon drop when the clock struck twelve. I was painfully sober, and very nauseated, but I made it to 12:15 and then I informed Husband we had to go.
He fell asleep in the passenger seat. SO WHO IS THE BORING ONE NOW?
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| Please ignore the people in the background. |
… I’m pregnant (again)!
Most people are hesitant to make this sort of announcement until they are out of the “risky” period of pregnancy. Not us. We are full-out telling people. We never do what you’re “supposed” to do. It works for us. We need the prayers of our families, and the health of our baby does not depend on how many people we do or do not share the good news with.
Also, it made a fun Christmas surprise to tell everyone.
After going through a miscarriage in late August, I am both terrified and excited to be pregnant again. I HAVE to believe that this baby is healthy and all will be well … I drive myself crazy with worry if I let myself even think about the alternative.
My hypersensitivity and irrational behavior has only just begun, and Bitch Mode has started to slowly kick into gear. It’s going to be QUITE a ride. At least this time, Husband knows what to expect. The last time, I distinctly remember him yelling at me because I was “using hormones as an excuse to be a bitch.”
No … no. Not an excuse. Fact.
Poor man. He has learned the ways of womanhood since then. I can tell because he’s already being so helpful. Possibly out of fear.
Fact: I suceeded in eating a 3 lb. butternut squash all by myself over the course of 5 days.
You see … I made soup. I’m normally very intimidated by new recipes, especially if they involve ingredients I’m not familiar with — such as a butternut squash. But when I saw this, I knew it had to happen.
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| Curried butternut and red lentil soup, from http://www.eatliverun.com/ |
Looking at this picture makes me so hungry.
It’s hearty, orange-colored, healthy bliss in a bowl. Perfect for wintry days. Husband turned up his nose, but he did help me peel and chop up the squash. I didn’t offer it to my Toddler because it’s really spicy. So … I ate it. All of it. And it was awesome.
I’m 31 years old now, my son has more toys than he knows what to do with, and I’m not sure I’ve fully recovered from staying in close quarters with 9+ other people. With spotty cell service, might I add.
We have lots to discuss, friends. Lots to discuss.
Just give me a day to regroup, and I’ll get to it. Chasing after this little boy for 48 hours took its toll. Probably because I’m expecting another little one. But that’s a whole other story.
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| In constant motion. |
Yesterday, a terrible thing happened.
Let me preface this by saying that I am struggling to adjust to summer break. Struggling. Like … it’s good? But also horrible? Can something be good and horrible all at once? Because I’m pretty sure that is exactly what parenthood is.
Making the transition from having all three kids in school for 6+ hours per day (and working during those hours), to having them home all the time and trying to get my work done in addition to mothering in a loving fashion, is not going great. As I have already established in multiple blog posts from previous years, summer is effing relentless.
Pepper is obsessed with two things: outlets and babies. Here she is showing her baby doll the outlet in her bedroom. #multitasking
Thankfully, this year is somewhat easier than previous years simply because my children are getting older and more independent. Pepper will be 3 next week, so I think we’re finally on the upswing after a very dark time in the Valley of Motherhood.
Yesterday afternoon, we got home from playing at the park. The boys jumped out of the van, heard some kids next door playing, and asked if they could go over to play. I granted them permission and took Pepper inside. Her clothes were filthy — covered in layers of peanut butter and dirt — so I stripped her down to a diaper.
I ran to the bathroom with her trailing behind me, always my little shadow. And then, my mom called. She’s not feeling well and I can barely hear her on the phone. I was straining to understand what she was saying — did she just say she needed to go to the hospital?! — and naturally, my toddler got really loud at exactly that moment. As her shouting drowned out my mother, my stress level started to rise.
I went to my bedroom and closed the door. My daughter cried from the hall, and when she stopped, I was thankful. When I emerged only a few minutes later, the house was quiet. A panicky feeling started to rise in my chest, and then it felt like my heart stopped.
Just.
Stopped.
Beating.
Our back door was standing wide open.
Screaming her name, I ran outside. She was gone. Or hiding. Or missing.
I heard a woman’s voice — our across the street neighbor — yelling at me that she just saw a little girl cut through the fences in the backyard.
“She went that way, sweetheart! I was standing here watching her!”
I was barefoot and it did not matter. I ran. I ran until I found her. I couldn’t feel my feet. I couldn’t feel my body. All I could hear was my own voice screaming her name, and my heartbeat deafening my ears. That is what blind panic feels like.
My 2-year-old was wandering one street over from ours, wearing nothing but her diaper. She was holding a toy pet carrier with a little stuffed dog inside. I will never forget the way her face looked when she saw the horror on mine.
“NEVER AGAIN,” I said to her.
“Not with my dog?” she said.
“NEVER, EVER. Do not ever leave this house without a grown up,” I said, as I wiped away my tears.
I’m sharing this story to demonstrate how quickly children can disappear. How many times have I heard stories of toddlers wandering the streets and thought to myself, WHERE WAS THE MOTHER?
That mother is me. I was right there. It happened anyway.
I’m a damn good mom. I am capable. I am aware. I am not negligent. But children are fast. And sometimes quiet. And things happen. So today I’m hugging my babies tight, grateful for their safety, knowing that sometimes other mamas aren’t so lucky.
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Modern Mommy Madness 