Mike has been bringing Naomi to morning Mass with him this week, so I've had the two fireballs for about 45 solo minutes each day, during which time they have:
1) played sweetly together
2) exchanged admiring glances
3) thrown each other sweet, pretend birthday parties
4) and played with some dirty diapers, but that never hurt anyone before.
so.... I have nothing to complain about. Nothing at all.
Once I thought about it I realized that lately it is the case that the main hot mess in this house is currently typing your face off. I would blame it solely on pregnancy, but as Grace pointed out, the hormonal crazies only continue on and peak in postpartum days, so I guess I will just blame the hormones. I have no fears that any sane person who has ever read this blog is under any illusions that I have it all together (I think you could call my entire a blog a demonstration of a life of hot messes) but I guess that makes this post all the easier to do.
I took this selfie (or selfies) the other day, which will be entered as my epic selfie for #SOTG because, oh my land, the tears how they flow. All the time. Over anything.
I mean, this is slightly dramatized for effect, but there were so many numerous points throughout this book that I was literally reading it with my face buried as far in it as it would go so that the girls would not ask me repeatedly WHY I WAS CRYING?!?! Story of my pregnant life.
Then there is the weekly "stare in the mirror and wail about how I am just so big and there is no way on God's green earth that Mike can possibly find me even slightly attractive anymore!!! To which he always responds that I am gorgeous and wonderful and the best ever to which I always respond that he is just saying that and doesn't actually think it. Then I feel bad and thank him and thank God because I really do not deserve him.
Then there was the moment I looked in the mirror and realized this is how I look every morning. So much for all the dreams of looking pretty in some lacy maternity night gown, or even a decently fitting pair of pants for that matter. Against all inclinations to decency and tact, I will share my morning mess with you all.
Once again, I think I should probably invest in some maternity pjs, because these are just about to burst and Lucy keeps coming up to me and grabbing my belly when I wear this shirt because from her angle, it is all belly.
Shortly following this picture, I sent the girls outside for some morning sidewalk chalk time and decided it would be the perfect time to liberate the refrigerator of its left over Sunday waffle contents. I had been eying them up since Sunday but I knew if I ate them in front of the girls they would freak over why I got them and why they didn't to which I would respond with a simple mathematical equation:
2 regular sized waffles + 3 ravenous waffle eating toddlers = no one leaves happy
But they are not proficient in math yet, so I decided to just eat them. While I was enjoying them, I watched with glee while they played peacefully and felt like I was in mother-heaven watching sweet girls from my kitchen perch while eating sweet, delicious, albeit several day-old waffles. Then it all ended and they started screaming about something so I ran out and tried to settle it before my waffles got cold, but it wasn't resolving itself. So instead of re-heating the waffles, I grabbed the plate, ran into the bathroom, locked the door and devoured the waffles with a crying Lucy outside the door and Naomi yelling and asking me "what I was eating?!?".
Ok, only a little shame.
Really, I just eat all the time. I am eating right now and I have probably had roughly 4 small meals since I started this post. Last week found me in a craving tizzy which resulted in a desperate search through the ice cream aisle at the grocery store for chocolate peanut butter ice cream, which is incidentally only sold by Haagen Dazs in the small container, (and is the best ice cream on the face of the planet!!) so naturally I bought that plus a nice normal gallon size of "chocolate craving", which was also good.
All the ice cream is gone.
On the plus side, I am giving credit to the Blood Builder for giving me some increased motivation to organize the crap out of the house. Not cleaning, cleaning is repulsive to me. Behold exhibits 1, 2 and 3:
The thought of it feels so good.
The facial breakouts are also reminiscent of that high school time period and I won't even start on the various glamorous side effects of hefty weight gain + new found 85 degree days but I will just stop here because I could go on and on and on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on on and on, but I will just be...
Hit up Blythe and the others for more!