I didn't watch Rock of Love I or II (yes, I do know that Amber won out this round) and I'm no American Idol fan so I think it is all perfectly well and good that I may have a tad bit of an unhealthy love for this seasons series of the Bachelor.
OK, who am I kidding...
This season? Let's go with every season, except for the Pro-Bass fisher Byron one he just looked like a Ken doll left out in the sun too long.
And truthfully? I don't watch for the hottie bachelor. Because, ick. I find them quite unappealing, except for this season.
Here's the thing. I am addicted to this show. There is nothing I like more than waking up on Tuesday morning and queuing up the DVR to this inexplicably still on television show. Who did the Bachelor kick off? What disastrous moments occurred? Was there baby talk that will make me toss my Grape Nuts? Can I stomach another session in a hot tub?
It was with great glee that I watched all the only in fantasy world/paid for network television dates. Great glee and yes, a tad bit of shame. It is shameful that I like this show for so many reasons and yet I cannot break my gaze away from the overly tan, champagne swilling (and sometimes beer can biting) women who proclaim they are in 'true love' after one three minute conversation and then later calling him a douche bag. It boggles my mind when I hear them mention the l-word or marriage.
So what is it? What show is your secret shame?
Check out new reviews of worthy shampoo and more.
How best can you tell your husband you love him when he tells you that your baby bump simply looks like a college girl who just got back from Spring Break? And I quote, "That's nothing! I've seen college girls with bigger, more bloated beer guts after Spring Break! You look great!"
Seriously.
He RAWKS! Even if he doesn't hear pee-pants crying in the other room at night.
That was one of the best compliments I've had in quite some time as I'm already using a hair elastic to button my jeans and I can't quite wear maternity shirts without looking completely stupid but my regular shirts are all too small making me look like a person who doesn't know how to wear properly fitting clothes.
Seriously folks. Lately, I could easily say that today is brought to you by the letter, 'P'.
It is not just me. I know that I'm waking up a bazillion times a night now to use the head but there is also the dog incident.
Now this-
4:36 a.m.- Crying. There is loud wailing come from just behind T.D.'s door. Holy hell! I just got back to sleep and into dream world after my last pee break. Why me?! Why isn't H even moving?! I think he is fake sleeping. Curse him!
I throw off the blankets and head across the hall to investigate.
4:39 a.m.- There T.D. stands head hanging low looking upset and a tad ashamed if that is possible at this ungodly hour. I crouch to her level and ask what is wrong. She is soaked. From tummy to ankle in pee. It's cold too. My super sleuthing skills deduce that she must have peed her bed in her sleep. I know, I'm wicked smot. I feel the sheets. Yup, cold and wet. Kick ass.
4:41 a.m.- I immediately comfort/strip T.D. of all wet pajamas while trying hard not really get my hands coated in pee. Realize this is impossible and fling urine soaked pajamas out the bedroom door. Since the weather is all an Inconvenient Truth lately and crazy she is cold and trembling. I press her to me for warmth while I grab clean PJ's and wipes.
4:43 a.m.- I briefly contemplate getting her into the tub to clean her properly and then realize that I'm not that good of a mother. The hours of sleep time are diminishing and a bath will only wake us both up further. I wipe her down with baby wipes and hope that she won't hold this against me later.
4:45 a.m.- T.D. yells, "I peed!" incredibly loud and then whispers, "Shhh! Daddy sleeping..." Yes, Daddy sleeping. I resist the urge to cry or growl simultaneously. Instead, I head to the bed to strip it. Soaked to the mattress pad. Le Sigh...
4:46 a.m.- After a quick strip and inspection of all stuffed animals, the pillow, wiping the plastic mattress coating with wipes and the blankets the bed is changed and new. T.D. climbs in and I cover her up. She yells, "Night, night Momma!" and I smile back stroking her hair.
4:48 a.m.- I stumble across the hall, tripping on the pee sheets and collapse into bed. What felt like hours was only mere minutes and my brain is already awake and thinking of the day ahead.
For some reason it is here that I feel most like some ceramic caring mother figure. It is not the hours earlier when we are having dinner and I cut her food into tiny bites so she won't choke. It is in these moments when I see that tiny bit of shame she feels despite that I don't care if her soaked self and I held her against me. I only want her to be warm and safe. This is parenting. This is motherhood more than anything else and I wouldn't trade it. It may seem odd but it is always these moments that do it to me and not the everyday or exciting happy ones.
So we have a bit of a situation here. Or we did last night. Our dog is a vindictive little B*tch. Hey, I can call her that. She's a girl! She peed on the bed.
Truthfully, you could see it coming.
H promised her a night of snuggling on the couch while he read and I went to hang with the girls. With TD tucked in for the night I'm sure that Lex was thinking she had H and the couch all wrapped up.
Except she didn't.
H decided to read alone.
The dog? No comprende.
So she pissed on the bed. Right in his spot.
I came home to no mattress pad, new sheets and a pile of pee-soaked blankets on the bedroom floor. Oh and one dog in a crate in the nether regions of the basement.
The laundry machine has been going for quite some time.
I'm over here today blogging about shoes. If you haven't entered the contest below- you should! 8GB flash drive? Holy Schnikes! You have to go for it. I'm giving away 8!!!
I'm teaming up with SanDisk this Mother's Day to offer you one great prize- The Cruzer Gator. This is one sweet flash drive too. The Cruzer Gator is stylish with its mock alligator design and cuts a unique profile in a purse, briefcase or wherever you want to store it. It looks good just sitting on your desk too. It is definitely not your standard corporate flash drive. It's 8GB! So you can upload and store not just documents but a whole slew of photos to share with friends and family for a long time.
So what's the catch?
It's simple really. Just send in your favorite photo of you and your mother (or mother figure) from any time, it doesn't have to be from a Mother's Day past. It can be sweet, touching, wacky or fun. Let us know why you love it too in just a few words. Don't have a photo of you and your mother you want to use? Then send a photo of you and your kids together that you particularly love. The same criteria applies.
There are many chances to win this great Mother's Day prize and I'll be posting up the winning photos on Friday, May 9.
Send all photos to veamason AT gmail DOT com.
Now to get you started is a favorite photo of my own. This is my mother holding a two week old TD for the first time. They kind of look alike don't they?
You want to know what's gross?
When you spill chicken soup on your jeans. Yeah it feels disgusting.
Hot Soup.
Wet denim. (that better not get me some bizarre hits from Google.)
Stuck to your leg.
Sick!
You want to know what is even more disgusting?
When you bend down to clean that up and fail to realize that your hair has gone into the bowl still filled with soup. When you look back up because your kid is screaming "Yicky! Gross Momma!" you get smacked in the face with wet chicken soup hair and it sticks to your cheek.
Yeah, that's pretty gross.
I felt like the weird girl in school who everyone thinks smells like soup after that.
Yes, it is Earth Day. I think when I was in high school I wore some giant t-shirt with a globe on it to commemorate the day and that was that. Now that anything green seems to have become Eco-chic we are inundated with ideas on how to go green. It's a bit overwhelming isn't it?
In our house we try to be good stewards of the earth. There is talk of a vegetable garden if we can get our collective butts in gear this spring. We recycle all we can. We reuse goods and try not to buy new if we can find an alternative. In the past year we've implemented a few other changes too.
We got rid of paper napkins. It was easier than I thought it would be. I bought two twelve packs at Bed, Bath & Beyond and voila! No more paper! My mother said, "Oh! You don't have to use cloth napkins just because I'm here.." I quickly set her straight. Here is another alternative.
T.D. has the most sensitive skin and I clearly do too. We have done away with a lot of harsh and synthetic products in our house this year. Even our guest bathroom got a green makeover. We've noticed a real difference in how we look and feel.
We've discovered the joys of simplicity and less waste in all of this and it has made an impact on our family as a whole. We seem to appreciate more and think things through instead of going on impulse so much. By doing the three R's we are learning day by day and seeing a difference in our lives for the better.
It's not hard to implement and you don't have to overhaul your life. It takes a bit of practice but it's fun to green your world. Now I'm off my recycled soap box and I ask you-
What do you do in your house that helps Mother Earth?
Note to Self: Cheetos, no matter how fabulous they look in the store do not go well with Cheerios. Ever. It is a bad idea. Remember this later when you think it might taste good again and you have forgotten the sick of Sunday, April 20, 2008.
In other news T.D. now knows how to say, "Daddy works for the man!"
Awesome.
My husband likes to say I have bad birthday karma. With that comes bad gift karma. After years of hearing him say it and describe past presents I've received I came to believe it too. The list of bad presents from those who probably mean well has been long. Those "french" plates with pink shoes drawn on them and inscribed with the words, 'Oh la la'? I don't think was meant well at all actually. I don't know what that person was thinking. For the most part I've been told I'm hard to buy for and I've come to believe it now too. Though really? What woman doesn't like a pedicure or a day alone sans kids? Or a shopping spree or good book? I'm always game for those.
The Aunt Myrtle style lipstick case with mirror given to me at age 7?
The ankle length orange winter coat with the $5 price tag still on it?
The huge box of beanie babies when I graduated from college?
What about the surprise party where I didn't get any of my own birthday cake? Oh wait... that wasn't a gift.
The Barbie Dream House? I could go on.
While it might not be the worst there is one gift that stands out as inexplicable. I was turning 18 and it was the time of the Sony Discman. I wanted one but bad. It was all I could think of. So long cassette tapes! Hello shiny disc with superior sound quality! I couldn't wait to unwrap it on my birthday. Except that isn't what happened. Instead, I found myself unwrapping a rather long thin box with a double cassette tape radio thingy inside. Just like the one that was already sitting in my room upstairs. You might be thinking that the gift giver had no idea I owned one. Except they did. This gift was from my parents. I was dumbfounded.
When I asked why I got the same thing I already owned they simply said, "Well, they were all out of Discman's at the store and so..."
I remember thinking, "And so what?! An IOU would have been better! I could have waited a bit for a new shipment! WHY (HUGE INTAKE OF BREATH) BUY (HUGE SIGH)THE SAME THING?! (EXASPERATED SCREAM)
You could say I was ungrateful. If ebay was around maybe I would have hawked it there and gotten a Discman eventually. Instead, I just refused the gift. I was hurt, angry and annoyed. How could they not listen to me? Didn't they know that music to a teen is like air? Stupid double cassette player... I grumbled.
Eventually my Dad decided to return the thing and when we entered the store what did I see? No, not a Discman. The store was still out, but a stereo with a CD player and a double cassette and huge speakers. "Oh Dad..."
I sold that stereo at a yard sale last year for $25. It was 12 years old. It was one of the best gifts ever. My roommates probably still hate me for playing my bagpipes CD (with superior sounod) on early Saturday mornings from that very stereo.
PBN BLOG BLAST! TODAY! TOMORROW! ALL THIS WEEKEND! GetInHerHead is a new site where you can record your sizes, dream gifts, wishes and more so that those who love you can love you right back with that perfect gift be it Mother's Day, your birthday or just because. Post at PBN and hat can you win? A gift certificate to your favorite spa for $250 - you name the spa!
Do you dip? No, I don't mean tabaccy. Now that would be something. Mommybloggers who dip. Women trolling Target with those little circular indentations in their back pockets.
I digress...
Are you a dipper? Some people love to dip their food in things. I for one, will NOT dip my McD's french fries in anything. It taints them. I will however dip my grilled cheese in ketchup. Provided it is NOT made at home. Denny's, diners or any dining establishment that serves grilled cheese? It gets dipped. Home? No dip.
And if you are so inclined read this article and tell me what you think? Is Mommy prettier now?
I couldn't sleep last night. Blame it on tax day and the nasty bill we had to pay this year or the fact that recently the news reported that the price of a box of cereal is going to go up 56% this coming year. It's cringeworthy indeed. As I lay there thinking about my lack of work lately and how I was going to get motivated beyond the sickness to pay some bills I began thinking about Arbonne.
I sell it. What started out as a product review almost two years ago became one of the best items I have ever reviewed. I don't actually use that lightly either. I really truly love and believe in the products. I have seen the results and become a believer over all other products I've used. What I am having trouble with is the business side of it. The company just released a slew of new products but for anyone to sample them the rep needs to buy full-sized products. This makes no sense. Other companies have samples. It's Business 101 to me. Samples. Crack dealers know this stuff people! They give out a taste. A sample, if you will. You always want more. You come back for more.
Am I saying that Arbonne should learn from crack dealers? Heh. Maybe. Am I saying that I woke up in the middle of the night and sent them an email telling them so? Maybe. If I thought it would give them a kick in their tired, same-old same sampled butts. Am I saying we can learn from dealers?
Maybe I'm saying I just lost too much sleep.
It seems that daily there is something new going on with me. None of it too exciting unless you count the fifteen minutes I spent yelling at my newly bulging thighs this past week. We are not even going to talk about the saggy butt syndrome. Yup. Already. My body is in fat storing mode. No matter what now those saddlebags will sit there until I'm done breastfeeding and doing tight'n'tone at the gym for days on end again. I'm just going to start yelling, "Giddy up!" each time I start walking now.
My breast have expanded to larger proportions and they've been called 'cans' by H more than once. Which really? Is that correct terminology? Cans?
I was blessed to not have the smell of coffee wafting through my house this morning. Thank you Jesus! The stuff I used to wish I could tether to an IV all day is now the devil's juice. The smell alone makes me retch for hours on end as it seems to linger longer than an annoying neighbor.
I will attempt to hit the grocery store today as we are sadly low on supplies. Though the last time I went I ended up sobbing in the aisles as I fought back the gagging and nausea. Each aisle I grew worse and when I realized that wretched Daniel Powter song was blaring over the PA system, I really thought I might go postal. I freakin' hate that song even when I'm not a hormonal nauseous mess. It made me feel incredibly stabby as I tried to just exit the store without having to be overly chatty to the checkout clerk.
Some say the third trimester is the hardest because you are huge and you just want that baby out of you. I say, F that yo. That's a damn scurrilous lie. The first trimester is kickin' my ass at least six times a day with no time for recovery. Me no likey it indeed.
Dinner time, our house, last night...
T.D. swipes a fork from the table at lightening speed and quickly hides it on her person.
Me: This isn't prison, put the fork back on the table!
H tries to keep from spitting food out of his mouth.
Moments later T.D. has swiped another fork and poked herself in the face with it.
Me: And that's why we don't use forks as weapons or anything else other than as eating utensils...
Immediately I'm reminded, as was H, by his snorting laughs of the Arrested Development episodes in which the father teaches his children lessons using the one-armed man.
I can do better! Isn't that how the song goes? I would like to say that I excel at some manly type things but at the moment my brain is drawing a blank. Plus, things in our house are pretty equal.
We both clean just fine even if it is in our own little idiosyncratic ways that drive the other one nuts.
We both claim to drive better than the other. I at least have the driving record to prove it.
We can each make a mean dinner, breakfast or lunch.
Kid duties? We're even there too.
When we do home renovation projects we work together. Granted I shirk the whole power tool thing but it's just not my thing. I am pretty girly, I admit. I like to pick out the aesthetic items and I don't mind painting or digging in the dirt. I leave the caulking to H. I just don't have the patience. Maybe H should have written this post today so he could tell you the "manly" things I excel at. He says I'm a 'birthin champ' but I sometimes wonder if that is just because he could never do it.
Today's Blog Blast is all about what traditional male pursuits you excel at. PBN is giving away thirteen CarMD Handheld Testers (worth $90) to those who post their own pursuits on the site, where today it is all about Ask Patty. So tell us, what do you excel at in the "manly" category? Which really I don't think exists anymore. Not when I look at the women I know and listen to my readers comments.
*I'm giving away something too- just click here.
I used to obsess about handbags and cute sandals. Really. Just weeks ago. Accessories and nail polishes were like air to me. These days all my creative juices seem sapped by a guppy-sized being inhabiting my lower regions. My desires for cute butt jeans and wedge heels have transferred to working myself into a lather over just the idea of a Pizza Hut pan pizza only for me.
When I sit down to work all I can think of is how brownies repulse me and the idea of a nachos bell grande seems like pure bliss. My house never feels clean and I want to change my sheets daily. I yearn to plant acres of flowers and all ideas of baking have been put aside.
I am not pregnant I have had a lobotomy. People say this about mothers all the time. "Oh she had that baby and now she never goes anywhere without it. She is all about the baby all the time and can talk nothing but bottles and binkys." In some cases this is true. I have met these women. I have friends who have gone over to this side and I've yet to see them in something other than what can only be called "Mom Jeans." For me this first trimester has been one of intense mind and body numbing sickness and exhaustion. T.D. has clocked more TV time than a Nielsen family. I am never alone. The guppy is always with me reminding me that the tuna sandwich I wanted to maim someone for at lunch time is now a less than stellar idea. Chocolate cake and cookies makes me gag. My mind works in only one way. Sick today? Not sick today. Sick this moment? Oh wait- sick RIGHT NOW!
I obsess over food drooling over pumpernickel bread and take as much care slathering on melted butter as I once did with writing up reviews or articles about living green. My need to ingest massive amounts of Newsweek and NPR has tapered. It's like I'm slightly dead or frozen inside.
Where have I gone? How does a guppy already hold so much sway? They say parenting changes you but really it is not until moments like this that we see how much.
I want my old brain back and my personal pan pizza.
After quite a lengthy discussion last night on the following topic H asked that I pose this question-
What was your favorite hot lunch when you were in school?
Makes me wonder- Does anyone else's paper still print the weekly school lunch menu?
Discuss....
I woke up this morning thinking about the Avon Walk. It is less than a month away and we have four fundraisers, big and small, in the works in less time than that. Sometimes I think I must be crazy for attempting to do this walk while still in my first trimester. Sometimes I think I'm crazy for agreeing to do so many fundraising events. Organized I can be. A seller of wares I am not.
Just thinking about the fact that I'll have a whole Arbonne table to myself on Saturday makes me sweat giant beads of perspiration no matter how good the cause. I am full of 'what ifs'. What if no one even glances my way? What if my friend who sells Mary Kay kicks my ass in sales? What if no one buys a single thing despite it being for charity. Arbonne is not cheap. It's hard to convey how awesome it is as a skincare line when a giant hormone-induced zit is sitting front and center on my face as well.
Last time we held a fundraiser I came away with less than $20 and a huge feeling of defeat. Then today I open up my inbox and there it is, the donation alert from Avon. I met my goal. A friend from high school, who has never donated before and I haven't spoken to much in the last few years sent me exactly $91.99. I stand amazed and with a huge grin on my face. It's like the kindness of strangers or something quaint like that.
Suddenly I feel all about fundraising. The pressure is off and I'm simply helping my teammates meet their goals. I have nothing to lose and tons of fun to have. It makes me feel sort of sweet and sappy inside. Excited too, because despite how much work it is going to be corralling over ten capitalistic vendors early Saturday morning it is all for a good cause again. The worry is no longer an issue. I feel all Chariots of Fire running now or something. If I ran anymore and didn't feel like puking every five minutes even while sitting still.
Thanks Eric! You ROCK!!
Also this? This is seriously awesome and something I am sad I had to miss.
I find it very interesting to come home from these blogging junkets. After spending days talking RSS feeds, traffic, monetizing, getting all twitterpated from twittering and generally living in a bloggy bubble coming home is the equivalent to having all the air sucked out of said bubble and hearing a loud popping noise. That noise could easily be described as my coolness factor slamming the back door shut as it runs down the street very far away from me. Apparently, I'm now a dork.
At least according to H.
When I came home on Friday night from Camp Baby I was brimming full of news. I had photos of me and my fun blogging friends, I was excited about meeting my favorite blogger and wanted to share all that I had learned and gleaned from the trip. As I began to talk about the insane amount of twittering going on I noticed H smirk. Then snort. Then snigger a bit and leave the room.
What?!
When I pressed him for an answer he just smiled and said, "It's cute." WTF? Cute?! I'm not a pink bunny rabbit dammit! What's cute?! He elaborated with, "A few years ago I would never have believed it if someone told me you would be all geeked out and into this type of stuff. It's cute, really, in a dorky sort of way."
Awesome.
While I consider myself one of the least 'in the know' bloggers when it comes to tech stuff I do love learning new things about all things blog. What I find amusing is that until this week I was practically a Twitter virgin. I had an account that I never used.
So really, if I'm a dork. That's fine with me. I don't mind. At least I can say I like what I do everyday. For that I am grateful.
I remember puking over anything poultry and eating pork up to four times a day when I was pregnant with T.D. Salad made me queasy and want to ralph so badly it took me almost a year and a half to want to eat it again.
Now?
Now, I'm loving the fact that H just brought me two soft taco supremes from the Bell and I can down them in a sickly wolf like fashion. He should be given the Nobel Peace Prize for getting them so fast and keeping me so happy.
I had to pull over STAT the other day to buy three chicken selects. No dippin' sauce. Just give me the damn selects! Only three please. Anymore and I might actually barf.
This is not me. I do not eat this way. I shun french fries and almost anything sweet and want to guzzle coke from a fountain.
Smartfood is my new best friend.
Pizza made me sick today. Two weeks ago I could have eaten it daily.
WHO AM I?! I don't even know. One minute I'm all about lemonade and hoarding it in the pantry. The next it is the devil's juice.
I don't know that I can take much more of this and we have such a long way to go.
Have just finger-scraped and licked the wrapper on the Soft Taco Supreme. I have gone to a new low.
Hour One
The blogosphere is alive and well. Watching people blog, email and twitter away. Why did I leave my laptop in my room? Baby brain has begun already.
Sucking on sorry little butter mints found at the bottom of my purse to prevent the inevitable nausea that never fails at this hour. Thinking about the cinnamon and brown sugar pop tarts hangin' in my purse.
Ooh look! I'm sitting between Moms Favorite Stuff and Mums The Wurd!
New Food Fact: Nutmeg is a hallucinogen. Anyone have any nutmeg recipes?
Eating No More Tears bubbles is A-OK. So is bathwater. Guzzling No More Tears? It's just a good laxative. Whew!
Hour Two
Despite cutting boards being dirtier than a toilet seat it is still not OK to make a sandwich on the potty.
Just scarfed down the pop tarts. Was tasty despite hearing about oozing diapers and the Rota virus.
This germ session is making me queasy. Where's the Purell?
Use hot water on the undies and infant clothes. Seriously. The poop cannot be contained.
Talking mommy tats. Had no idea the tramp stamp and epidural could be an issue.
LUNCH!
Ack. Gag. Too much saliva. Lunch a bust. Andouille sausage burgers with beets=gestational gagging. Want to eat fruit, steamed veggies and cottage cheese. Or a full bag of Smart Food.
Twizzlers might be my new fave food group.
Go figure, the food lady is pluggin' Splenda. Will not succumb to using the devil's sugar.
Hour Nine hundred eighty-four
Just had to braid hair on a fake head. Told hair stylist that the damaged fake hair on the mannequin makes me feel queasy so, no touchy for me.
Want to take a nap.
Smart Food is my only hope. Snacking like a mofo.
Just because you market something in a beige bottle with green writing with a leaf on it doesn't make me think you've gone all green. I read labels.
They are picking our brains right now. P-I-C-K-I-N-G. Is J&J timeless? Is it old-fashioned? Do we use it? Why? What brands? Is it a classic brand? Why do we buy what we buy? Oh my...
INTERNETS- Do you use Johnson & Johnson? Why? What are you using on your kids?
"If your lemon got on your cheese, you're hosed!" - Ted Allen, during wine tasting
"The first thing I did when I got in my room was shave my legs and then leave the razor on the tub. I just left it there. No complicated box needed to keep it away from my kids...."
The absolute quiet and pristine whiteness of my bed when I first walked into my hotel room. The absolute quiet and pristine whiteness one hour later and then again five hours later. It's still pristine white and quiet unless you count the hum of the Today show in the background and not Clifford.
Ted Allen actually being quite amusing causing me to guffaw out loud on several occasions. He clearly knew his audience when he told us to just guzzle our wine at one point.
I'm off to learn about braiding hair, what's happening down there and camper chic.
Today I'm off to the beautiful land of New Jersey to seek out the answers to infant and toddler sleep patterns, all that is new in J&J products and if I wasn't pregnant to drink a little.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm excited to go. Happy to be invited. Thrilled to be carpooling with this crew. But when H asked me this morning if I was packed and ready to go, all pumped up to talk to other bloggers I said, "eehhh..I'm more concerned about food. When will we eat? Will there be snacks? I forgot to buy crackers. I know were talking about sleep issues with kids, will there be nap time for me?"
Seriously. This is what it comes down to. A tiny being smaller than a grain of rice is making me nauseous as hell right now and I'm playing it moment by moment most days. It sucks. I've already uttered, "This is the last time we are doing this!" to H. I am a jumble of nerves the first trimester. I worry about how things are incubating, if there is a heartbeat, will I puke in some bloggers car, and will the smell of the hotel be alright with my finicky nose. Until last night the smell of H made me gag.
I feel like Debbie Downer as I waver between exhaustion and wondering how I get off this ship because surely that is why I feel like I'm swaying to and fro. I can eat my weight in fruit loops (without milk please, adding milk makes them taste like cheese) right now which in a house usually filled with Kashi and Special K is truly and oddity. It's official fruit loops are crack to toddlers and my kid is never coming back from this.
Still the old me is lurking around somewhere beneath the nausea and is excited to go.