22 weeks - Hot Mess Lane

Make some noise for 22 weeks! :) 1st week of our 6th month!

Shit's about to get real here folks. As I've mentioned about a billion times already on this blog.....I love being pregnant. It's been a really awesome and fun transition for me so far. I just LOVE that I'm carrying our baby and I get to feel the little thing kick and squirm and move all day. Most days and moments are just rainbows and unicorns in my life right now.

Last Thursday was not one of those nights.

I'm only blogging about this because I can laugh about it now and well, I'm trying to give all you people a "real" sense of my pregnancy and what not so here goes. I've had a few let's call them "emotional outbursts" throughout the last 4 months but I'd like to elaborate on the two most memorable.

Let's first back up to sometime in early February. I was having a particularly annoying day at work, wasn't feeling well after lunch, and trying to hustle home after work to meet Chad and head down to Santa Cruz for book club and dinner. I'm not sure what exactly set this into motion (maybe it was a song on the radio in my car? a thought that popped into my head? general stress and hormones? who knows.) but by the time I pulled into the driveway I was just a plain hot mess. Uncontrollably sobbing. Ugly crying. Whimpering. Poor Chad didn't know what hit him when he greeted me at the door. I didn't even know what hit me. All I managed to say was "It was a really bad drive home." The next 20 minutes or so consisted of me crying out my mascara all over his white shirt while he held me in the kitchen and I mumbled a bunch of things that didn't make much sense. I can tell you that I was upset because: I felt guilty because I was having a healthy pregnancy and felt like I wasn't thankful enough for it; at the same time felt overwhelming gratitude for the life I have and the little tiny baby growing in me; was crazy homesick from my family and was sad I'm not physically around them to share the experience; wanted my mommy and was feeling very appreciative of how my parents raised me; in a fun added twist I was freaking out about how I don't know what I'm doing and am going to be a shitty mom and won't do the right things that my parents did for me; and then "omg, what if I accidentally drop the baby?! I probably will. Oh my goodness Chad, one of us is seriously going to drop the baby. Then when the kid is older someone will say 'were you dropped as a baby or something?' and we'll KNOW, Chad!!! Yes, we did drop the baby!! Oh no, will we tell them we dropped them or just keep it from them their whole life?! This is really bad Chad, it's really bad." Chad tried to keep his laughter under his breath but the dropping the baby thing really set him over the edge. He was laughing as hard as I was crying. I knew how crazy I was being. It didn't matter though. Hormones make you do/think/feel some weird things. I was even laughing sometimes between sobs and apologizing for being such a wreck for no real reason other than I just needed to get it out. Needless to say, we did not make it to Santa Cruz and I spent the majority of the night silently crying on the couch in the fetal position.

Fast forward to last week. Everything was going so well...I'm not sure what happened. I didn't sleep well the night before, I was up from 2-3am because a certain someone that resides in me decided it was playtime and proceeded to dance, swim, kick, punch, and roll while I tried to sleep. But I mean seriously...could I be mad at that? I was feeling my baby move inside of me, and I'm fairly certain that will not get old. I woke up with a sore back and decided I should stay in bed a little longer and go into work late. Because I'm trying to save up as much sick and vacation time as possible for my maternity leave, I've rarely taken any time throughout my pregnancy so far so this was a nice treat. :) I took a long shower, ate a little breakfast and got to work around 11am. Thursdays are my favorite day of the work week because I go to my prenatal yoga class straight from work. I seriously love love that class. I wish I could go to it every day. Okay, maybe every day would be too much but like 3 times a week would probably be good. So I go there, have a great class and leave feeling refreshed and ready. (For childbirth, for being a good mother and wife, for a fire-breathing dragon I may encounter on my drive home....it doesn't matter, Marti gets you in a zone to believe you can do anything. Goodness she's great.) I get home, have a great Skype date with Tracy while I cook in the kitchen and Chad hangs out with us. I think that's the part I went wrong. It was 8pm, I was starting dinner and it was going to take me about an hour start to finish. And I ate a plum as a snack around 5:30pm. But of course I was set on making some delicious tomato basil soup and garlic bread. (And seriously, it really did turn out awesome. I think I got the recipe on Pinterest but I can't find it right now. I'll post it later if I find it again.) Everything was going so well....until it came to using my immersion blender. I couldn't figure out I wasn't patient enough to get the piece on the end of it and barked the order at Chad to get it on for me. Then came using it, when I realized the pot I was making the soup in was not deep enough to contain all the splashing the immersion blender was about to do. Insert complete freak out. "Why did I choose this (expletive) pot?? That was so (expletive) stupid!! It's going to splash everywhere!! I knew from the beginning I shouldn't have used this pot...but guess what CHAD?? I STILL used it!!" So what's the next logical step? Realize it's not a big deal and either transfer the soup into a bigger pot or deal with the splashes and clean up the stove top after I finished, right? Wrong. The next logical step was to slam the blender down, slide the chair that was in my path across half the kitchen and into the table, storm off to our bedroom like a teenager and yell at Chad "I CAN NOT HANDLE THIS RIGHT NOW!!" Once in the room it was probably a chance to reflect on my freak out and calmly go back to the kitchen, right? Wrong again. The stupid light was flickering in our bedroom (we think there is a short in the socket) so upon plopping myself on the bed and realizing it, the best thing was to chuck a pillow at the light switch in hopes of hurting the wall's feelings. I'm sure it worked. But it definitely didn't quit flickering. I needed a few minutes of alone time and I came out of my whiny toddler temper tantrum crazed hormone situation, stuck my tail between my legs and came back into the kitchen to Chad finishing the soup and cleaning up my the blender's mess. I managed to do the garlic bread myself and we ate mostly in silence. I don't think I even realized how good the soup really turned out until the next day when I ate leftovers for lunch. He could have laughed at me but I think he was probably too scared. It's best for everyone that he didn't. Since then, I've apologized and thanked him a bunch for keeping me sane and helping me to resemble a normal human being with normal functions. He claims that's why we married each other. :)

Thank you for taking this journey with me down Hot Mess Lane (a side street near Friendship Lane.) Here's to not making a wrong turn on that street for another month or two, because that's about all I (and anyone else) can handle.

xo,
Baby Momma