Welcome to my (temporary) new digs. Strangely, they look like my old NQBC digs, I know, and part of me just wants to go home. *stomping feet*
However, I am a grown up (something I have to remind myself of on a regular basis) and grown-ups move onward and upward (do you remember that from the Chronicles of Narnia?). At some point I’ll mess with the template enough that it works and looks decent.
Because of Jenna‘s tweets and posts, I’ve been watching birth videos on YouTube, and I gotta tell you, that sh*t is mind-blowing. I mean, whoa. I didn’t know bodies (ahem, girly parts) could DO that, though I guess I could have figured it out had I thought about a rather large little human coming out of a rather small orifice.
I think the freaked out tingle I feel in my ‘gina must be how men feel in their manly parts when someone talks about getting whacked in the huevos, except this is different, because you don’t really think about “pain” but rather… I don’t know. All I can think is, “Wow.”
But I’m mesmerized, so I watch with this “oh, my GAWD” grimace on my face, laughing at myself for cringing.
I miss my husband, deep in the pit of my stomach. I’ve been gone long enough that my mental picture of him has started to get fuzzy on the edges, which is really fun when I see him again because I think, “Yea, baby, that man o’ mine is HOT,” but is less fun when I have three more days to go and I’m buckling under the guilt of leaving him with the all the house stuff to handle.
Like getting all three dogs vaccinated, the house ready for an appraisal, and himself out the door for a getaway this weekend.
The bright side? I have no qualms about his ability to rise to the occasion anymore, even in covering the myriad of details related to our family. It used to drive me nuts that the man couldn’t tell you what brand of dog food we fed, but I’m realizing now it’s not fair to hold something against someone when you aren’t letting them be involved. He doesn’t hold it against me when I don’t know the last time the oil was changed in my truck, after all.
Holy cow, it’s only Tuesday. Longest. Week. Ever.