A New Low.

I'm not trying to bring you down. Really, I'm not. But I hit a new low last night when my child slapped me in the face.

We aren't sure what is going on with him lately. I keep calling it a "phase," because it eventually it WILL end. I mean, it has to. I'm not planning to raise my sons to be bossy, shouting, woman-slapping assholes. But apparently that is exactly what I've got on my hands at the moment, in the form of a 2-year-old.

He was angry at me because I took his cup away. He wasn't drinking the water, he was pouring it out. On me. So I calmly took it away. He demanded for it back. I calmly said no. So, he yelled "NO!" and smacked me on the right cheek. It was a moment of out-of-control impulse that I assume is normal for his age (right?), but was obviously unacceptable on many levels.

As soon as he did it, he got this "ohshitwhathaveidone?!" look on his face.

I'm proud to say, I kept it together. One of us had to. I gave him a spanking, looked him in the eye and said "don't you ever do that again." And you know, I don't think he will. He looked pretty traumatized.

The stress of parenting is wearing on me. Lucky for my family, I'm an internalizer. But I'm not sure that is good for me. I probably need to have a good old-fashioned cry, but I'm not a crier. I probably need to throw a screaming fit, but I'm not much of a yeller, either. I'm just a calm person, who happens to be 7 months pregnant with a husband who works long hours and a son who I feel like I can't control. He runs from me and I can't catch him. He throws himself on the floor and I can't pick him up. My "condition" is really cramping my parenting style.

What to do.

Confessions.

I confess that I have an addiction to the Wendy's Frosty. I learned today that the large frosty contains 620 calories. I have eaten one of those almost every other day for the past month. Don't think I won't keep getting them.

I confess that getting away from my responsibilities for a weekend was just what I needed. Is that also addictive? Getting away? Because I'd really like to do it again.

I confess that I have a mild obsession with the Cheesecake Factory and although I'm shocked that it would cost me $47 to purchase a 10-inch Kahlua Cocoa Coffee Cheesecake ... I'm tempted to do it anyway.

I confess that ONE is quite successfully driving me insane and I don't understand why he doesn't act like a lunatic when he's with his Daddy. He reserves his completely out of control behavior for me, and I'm much quicker to discipline so it only results in a boatload of spankings.

I confess that last night I hid from my family for almost two hours. I went upstairs to take a bath and then I took a nap. It was glorious.

I confess that I scheduled my maternity leave to begin a week before my due date so I will have time (hopefully) to do absolutely nothing, or whatever I feel like doing, before TWO's arrival. That day I speak of, the day I leave work, is 12 weeks, 2 days away. 

Why Men Are Infuriating.

These are the reasons why I'm currently mad at my Husband. He really is just a typical man, and I appreciate that about him, but sometimes I just need to vent in order to move on. And as I stated in a previous post, the more pregnant I get, the more disagreeable I become. So deal with it.

Today's grievances:

1. He wakes me up with his insane snoring several times a night ... and I wear earplugs. This is particularly infuriating when I have trouble sleeping to begin with -- because I have to pee, because I'm uncomfortable, and because TWO likes to kick me at night.

2. He ignores me. He ignores everything, actually. How do they do that? I waffle between jealousy and anger.

3. All he wants to do is lie around. And I am the pregnant one. He reminds me of a house cat. He likes to nap and stretch and sun himself.

4. He can be difficult to communicate with. Obviously, I'm not. I communicate perfectly.

5. The last time I tried to talk to him, it was 9 a.m. and he started snoring in the middle of my sentence. REALLY?!?!? 

6. He refuses to put his dirty clothes where they belong. He insists on putting them on the floor, the recliner, under the bed ... anywhere EXCEPT where they belong. Normally I accept that as a part of who he is (messy), but after #1 - 5 has taken place, it just sends me over the edge. And then, after weeks of it not bothering me, I get irate about it.

Next installment: Why Toddlers Are Infuriating. 

What I Know For Sure.

Oprah does this thing in her magazine called What I Know For Sure. It’s an editorial piece she writes every month and although I feel like I’m still too young to fully embrace the Oprah brand, I really do love her honesty.

Read the rest here!

Birthday.

Well, for the first time in a LONG time I feel like I'm on top of certain things. Not everything, but some things.

Take for example ONE's birthday. He turns three this year. This event may or may not take place in the very same week that TWO is born, so we're trying to plan ahead. It will be hard enough for him to be de-throned from his position as Only Child -- if we fail to celebrate his birthday then it might cause permanent damage.

Anyway, Husband found his birthday present already. Yep. Three months early. We are awesome.


(http://www.kids.woot.com/)



Progress.

(www.realsimple.com)

I have been struggling with an overwhelming urge to NEST for several months now. My husband, who was not born with a sense of urgency, does not understand.

"We still have three months," he says. Well, yes. We do. But that doesn't matter to a nesting pregnant woman, does it? It only pisses her off.

Yesterday, we made progress. He got so annoyed with me that he (FINALLY!!) went into the attic and pulled out the bassinet that has been in storage since ONE was about 3 months old. It made me so happy to remove the covers and wash them in mild detergent and hang them up to dry. I was giddy. I keep looking at the basket and rocking it and telling TWO that he has a place to sleep now.

At least we have THAT. Phase two will begin next weekend. My parents are coming and they are workhorses -- that's where I get it from, apparently -- and I plan to make the most of it. Not only are we going to set up the baby's room, but we are going to transform ONE's room into an awesome big boy's room. And maybe change out the dining room light fixture. 

Hopefully Husband will make the most of their help as well, because he knows that whatever is left after they leave ... is his problem.

p.s. I somehow convinced Husband that I need to hire a cleaning service to get my house spotless before the baby arrives. I mean, he nodded like he was in total agreement. He didn't even ask how much it would cost. VICTORY!!!!

Self-Preservation.

In a desperate act of self-preservation, I have decided to go on a girl's trip with my best friend from high school. 

It's just for the weekend. A last hurrah, if you will. I accept that there will be no road-trippin' for me after this, for quite some time. I plan to make the most of it.

I refuse to allow the fact that I am pregnant stand in the way of having fun. Luckily, Amy isn't a freakishly fast walker. And I'm sure we'll blend right in.

On Amy's 30th birthday.

I Know You.

(source)

I knew you were blowing smoke up our asses, Donald Trump.

I knew full well your so-called "consideration" to run for President was just a stunt. I mean really ... let's be serious. We all recognize that you're a smart man, but Presidental material you most certainly are NOT.

This charade was quite obviously a ploy to get America on the Apprentice/Celebrity Apprentice train. As if the ratings weren't already through the roof. You're a greedy man, Mr. Trump.

Despite your obvious shortcomings, I'm still a fan of your show. No one can hold my attention like your hair can.

Sunday.

Fact: I have entered a whole new level of emotional craziness. I've likened it to PMS on crack. I no longer feel sorry for my Husband. I want to rip his face off.

I'm not sure there is a cure for it, except to have this baby. 

Three months to go.

What Happens When ...

... you aren't home to dress your child.

Warning.

Last night Husband got home as I was hauling myself out of the tub. No easy feat.

He waited while I spent the next 10 minutes moisturizing my skin. I have developed a nightly ritual that involves a concoction of Vasline, lavender-scented baby oil, and St. Ives lotion. I have high hopes that my efforts will pay off and I'll escape this pregnancy with minimal stretch marks like I did with ONE.

That experience (ONE) left me with three stretch marks that have faded and now I can't even find them. So I fully expect that this experience (TWO) will leave me relatively unscathed. I'll be pissed if I'm wrong.

While all of this was happening I issued an official warning to Husband that with each passing day from now until TWO's arrival, he can go ahead and plan on me being more and more disagreeable.

You can go ahead and plan on that too, readers.

I leave you with today's thought:

Glucose Tolerant.

My husband is a good man.

Really.

He loves me and he is a GREAT daddy. But ... he's a man. I mean, a man's man. He doesn't cook, doesn't clean, and probably would forget to shower for days on end if he lived alone. He rubs his smelly feet on the couch and throws his belly button lint on the kitchen floor. He drinks from the carton and spits toothpaste all over the bathroom mirror.

These quirks are things I love about him, because he's a very messy person who is complimented by my obsessive-compulsive need for cleanliness and order. However, although I love him and all of his quirks, he still finds a way to infuriate me to the point of wanting to choke him about twice a week.

I had my glucose test on Friday. If you are unfamiliar, this is yet another way the medical field has found to needlessly torture a pregnant woman. You are required to fast for 12 hours, drink a substance that contains 50 grams of sugar, then sit for an hour before they take your blood.

It's horrible.

When I was pregnant with ONE I didn't have anyone with me which was a mistake. I spent the whole time miserable, bored, and feeling sorry for myself. Then I nearly hit 5 people with my vehicle while trying to drive to work.

This time, Husband agreed to take me. He really doesn't enjoy going to the doctor's office. It's boring and he always ends up holding my purse. There are vaginas everywhere. I get it. But I was really grateful for him driving me.

Until he did.

I hadn't eaten in 15 hours and counting. We got in the car. He informed me he was going to stop and get breakfast. I yelled at him. I told him that was inconsiderate and why on Earth didn't he eat at home?!

He stopped anyway. He ordered something fancy that contained sausage and egg. They handed him a bag and we left.

It contained: one plain biscuit.

Karma's a bitch!!! I announced. And all was right again.

Today, I learned that I passed my test. I am not diabetic -- not that I ever had any indication that I was. But thanks for that validation anyway, doctor's office. I celebrated this by going on a sugar-fueled bender ... ending with eating an entire BOX of chocolate-covered pretzel "Flipz."

Tuesday.

Things My Mama Taught Me.

1. A balanced meal always contains a protein, a starch, and a carb.

2. Presentation is everything.

3. The size of a Christmas tree doesn't matter; it's how you decorate it that counts.

4. Trust your instincts.

5. Let God lead your life and everything will fall into place.

6. Pray every day.

7. Nothing good can come from being too hard on yourself. Or spending your time doing something you don't enjoy.

8. How to wrap a gift with flair.

9. Treating the man in your life like a man will ensure he treats you like a lady.

10. How to be a mother.

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

(source)

Today is mine and Husband's favorite holiday.

No ... really.

When we were in our early twenties, we started the tradition of going to a local Mexican restaurant that was within walking distance of the house he shared with another guy, and getting completely and totally drunk.

They had great margaritas.

We are simple people and simple things make us happy: cheap food, good salsa, hot chips and a strong margarita on the rocks. I'm a little sad that this year I won't be able to partake, although I do plan to hit up some chips and salsa at the house.

I cooked on Tuesday, so I'm not feeling any pressure to cook again. It's Thursday, after all.

Cinco de Mayo 2012, I look forward to you. We'll get a sitter and go out to dinner ... I'll start planning it now.

I'm A (Pissy) Princess.

"Mommy, are you a princess?"

This is what ONE asks me any time he sees me wearing a dress, a nightgown, a robe, or an apron. I love it.

I just laugh and tell him yes, I am. He might as well learn now how to treat a lady.

I have been SO grumpy for the past 7 days, which I attribute to stress and lack of rest. I have been a no-fun, naggy, irritable, demanding GROUCH and when I'm not mad at my husband, I feel sorry for him.

This morning, ONE saw me walking down the stairs in a pink nightgown and velcro rollers and said "Hi, Mommy! You're pretty!"

I just love that boy.

Open Letter.

Dear Charlie Sheen,

Why are you visiting Tuscaloosa, Alabama?

Write a check and leave.

Thank you,
Harmony