Somebody needs a nap.

The doctor’s appointment was fine yesterday. Gab did surprisingly well, sitting in her stroller the entire time, although she was starting to show signs of mental breakage after 45 minutes waiting in the actual patient room. But, we all survived. Whew. She has a thing for sunflower seeds. Knowing this, I purposefully hid them from her the few days prior to the doctor’s appt. So, when I pulled out her bird food, her chirpy little self sat picking seeds one by one for the next 20 minutes. Revolutionary, my friend.

And, I proved a theory I’ve been testing at each doctor’s visit. E.’s mother does indeed give me high blood pressure. (well, E., his mother, and his father but this is Happy Blog , at least for now, until I crack and go all dirty laundry airing…bet you can’t wait until the day I’m all, “My real name is ____ and this is the sh!t I’ve really been wanting to say! Put the clothespin on your nose ‘cuz this laundry REEKS!”) Oh beautiful, joyous day. What was I saying? Yes, the woman elevates my blood pressure. Normally, when she watches Gab, she immediately starts “cleaning” and making comments the second she enters the house. And, inspects Gab from head to toe (for factory imperfections?)…if she finds a red spot of any sort, “the bugs under the bed, the bugs under the bed.” [I don't have bugs under the bed. I know someplace I'd like to insert some bugs, though.] So, I’m always driving to my appt. seething mad, cursing alone in my car like a crazed maniac. [Perhaps we'll get into my fierce independence and how I've already proven I'm not 'welcome to the 'fam/let's go through each other's underwear drawer' material...but, later...you and I are still in the holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes phase, perhaps some light kissing...I'll save the hardcore stuff for when we're starting to bore of one another]

Dang, the cart keeps getting off track. Like I was saying, it’s a running joke with my nurse and doctor that the blood pressure is slightly elevated b/c of E.’s mother. Well, yesterday, it was fine and dandy. Gab was with me and my house was empty. Case closed.

I just returned from story time at the library and hark! shopping.

Story time first: I love the library and all the great free things it has to offer. Gab adores the 30 minute story telling sessions for her age group. And, I get to sit and scowl at the other stay-at-home mommies at story time. Ok, I don’t scowl on the outside, but inside I’m a crazy scowling fool. I’m always amazed that I’ve somehow regressed to high school cliques at the library and, boohoo, I’m not one of the cool chosen few. These women dress alike, talk alike, act alike…Stepford Moms go to story time. It’s really disgusting. And, can we talk about how rude these robot sheep are? Sheesh. It’s one thing for a librarian to have to talk over toddlers, but to have to talk over their parents? The librarian story lady always gives some general library announcements at the end, “hey, check out out the veteran’s exhibit in the lobby, so-and-so will be giving a lecture…” Today, she’s trying to do her thing and the chicken house chatter was unbelievable. I stared at Stepford central in disbelief, “Oh, what does your husband do? Oh, an architect?! Fabulous! Where did you find those awesome shoes? Awesome. Fabulous. I hope everyone can hear me and how fabulous I find everything to be!” Librarian lady and I shared some telepathic “Can you believe this sh!t?” brainwaves.

One thing I noticed from my teaching days was the uncanny behavioral similarities between my sh!tty students and their parents. I might have a girl who yapped in a high pitched whiny voice day in, day out no matter how often I asked her to take it down 7 notches. Then, some school function would draw the parents in and lo, there’s a high pitched whiny woman whose voice interferes with shuttle launches. “Ms. dee, this is my mom.” No sh!t, Sherlock. Or the cocky athlete who just can’t seem to get enough of himself and in walks Daddy I Was A High School Athlete Who Just Couldn’t Get Enough Of Myself. These Stepford moms at the library have toddlers who already demand center stage in the middle of the story time. And, they just laugh and admire their miniature replicas.

Hey, who hasn’t slept in two days??!! That would be me. Can you tell? Am I slightly grouchy? I tried sleeping in the bed that past two nights but just can’t get comfortable and find myself rotating sides every 5 minutes like a rubbery convenience store hot dog.

And, lastly, shopping. My maternity pants fiasco reached full throttle last night when I had to go to Gav’s end-of-the-season flag football thingie and had no pants to wear. Well, I had the pants that fall off. My belly is protruding to such disgusting widths that the waistband on my other pair won’t even attempt to climb on board the belly. He just hides underneath in the great beyond. And, my one decent public worthy shirt (which I found for 2 bucks at a thrift store, SCORE!) is now splashed with bleach spots after cleaning the toilet in a violent rage last weekend. (how do you clean toilets? in a peaceful zen-like state? i scrub the ‘boy with aiming issues’ urine rings in a violent rage. gets the job done much quicker. oh, and i’m usually pissed at someone while i’m cleaning. pissed cleaning piss. man, i.need.a.nap!) So, I wore Pants Falling Down with Too Tight Sweater and was extra cranky the whole time. [High up there on my list of things I cannot tolerate are ill-fitting clothes. Pregnant or not, I cannot function if an article of clothing is misbehaving. You'll never find me, "These pants totally cut off the circulation to my torso, but my a$$ looks totally hot. I'm wearing 'em." Ummm, uh-uh. E., on the other hand. Sure. Because he's got the wrong gender parts.] Sleep deprived, I ventured out yet again to the mall and splurged on a pair of full-priced maternity pants that won’t fall down. I’m not happy, but, hopefully, I won’t be homicidal when I’m wearing said pants.

I should not be allowed to blog on no sleep. Guess it’s good practice for when the twins arrive. Good blog gone bad. ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzz.