super high and then down low.

So we all know that parenthood has it's ups and downs. It's highs and lows. It's a fact. They are both totally going to happen.

What is insane is that in a 48 hour period, you can have both. The extreme of both. It's exhausting. And slightly painful.

On Saturday, the day pretty much rocked. Tiff and I met up semi-early and got the kids packed up to head down to Columbia for Hayes' birthday. Both kids were excellent on the ride down and were perfectly content to watch Diego with no sound so that Tiff and I could gab our heads off with non baby talk for a while.

The party was so fun. I always enjoy spending time with Erin and her family and this time I lucked out and got to meet Rachel, a long time blog pal, and Katie, a newer blogger that I'm lucky to have gotten to know. It was a great afternoon watching the kiddos play and spending time with ladies that I truly enjoy being around.

The margarita didn't hurt either. Cinco de Mayo for the win.

The car ride home was blissful as both children were out before we even made it out of town. It was quiet. Other than BG hacking up her lungs from a nice cough she's rocking again, but you know. Quiet.

Tiff and I made dinner plans for that evening as we watched our crazy toddlers run around my house. It was a heart so full day (even though dinner didn't happen and I had to eat Cince de Mayo dinner with just le toddler).

As she settled down to bed that night, my heart was so full with how much fun we'd had that day. She'd been so good, she'd loved on the other kids, she was nice to the adults and was pleasant at dinner. Days like Saturday make me think that maybe I am doing okay with this parenting thing.

Not even 12 hours later, I woke up with a pounding in my head and an elephant on my chest. Nothing like starting the day with an allergy attack to get you going on the right foot. Mr. P gave me a Zyrtec which quickly set me up with that "cotton balls in my head" feeling that absolutely sucks.

BG and I didn't make it to church and we spent the next eight hours at home, without Mr. P, just trying to survive. She moved from activity to activity as I followed along in a half drugged, half just plain sick state. She was whiny and discontent to let her Mama rest and not entertain her. I was strugglin' ya'll. We were not seeing eye to eye with anything much.

Eventually we moved outside to the pool with some ice cream in hopes of just five minutes of quiet to rest my eyes.

It didn't happen.

By the time Mr. P came home, I was about as close to tears as one can get without actually sobbing. I was spent.

I climbed into bed Sunday night feeling defeated. Where was my high from Saturday? Where was the Mom who was rocking it and had such a happy kid on Saturday? How could we have such a great day followed by such a bad day??

Monday dawned bright and early and she and I managed to pick right up where we left off on Sunday; totally on the wrong foot with each other. I dropped her off and ran to work with a skip in my step at knowing that for at least the next seven hours, there was no toddler to yell and scream at me. It was going to be awesome.

Well that seven hours did the trick for us. Because when I picked her up, she was overjoyed to see me and threw herself in my arms. We made a quick visit to Daddy and then she and I ate burgers and fries in front of the tv for dinner.

There was still a good five meltdowns before bedtime, but as we sat, her in my lap for the first time in so long, and watched some tv before bed and let her wind down, I felt it again; that heart so full feeling from Saturday. I pushed a sweaty little curl off her face and sighed. Those moments aren't free. The highs are paid for with the lows. And the highs? I'll take the lows just to get those little joys.

a no good morning.

Yesterday I had a breakdown.

I have a bad habit of misplacing my keys. A bad one. It happens way too often.

I also have a bad habit of losing my temper. Yet another thing that happens far too often.

As I said in my post yesterday, my head is a mess these days. Add to the fact that BG is sick again and sleeping like crap again which means I'm sleeping like crap again, and well, I had a breakdown.

Thursday morning BG woke up at 3 am coughing her brains out. I went and got her and went ahead and did a treatment to see if we could open up her airway. It seemed to help a bit but it also wound her up big time.

Yay Albuterol.

Once she finally passed out again (in my bed no less), it was six and she had to be up in thirty minutes anyway.

I tried to let her sleep a bit because I knew she was beyond tired. Heck, I was beyond tired and just wanted five minutes of peace and quiet.

Eventually I woke her up and got her settled for breakfast while I finished getting ready. Once she was all set to go, we loaded up and headed for the door.

Only I couldn't find my keys. Anywhere.

Truth? my house is a wreck right now. I am too tired to deal with it. So it should come as no surprise that there was a ton of clean laundry waiting to be put up on the couch.

That had somehow fell and covered my keys. Super fun.

Y'all, I lost it. I was so upset. All my recent frustrations and my fatigue just caught up with me and I could not make it stop.

I looked down at my toddler who was horrified. Horrified y'all and it made it worse.

We are talking full on ugly cry. UGLY.

By this point both BG and I are so upset that we can't breathe. I tried to calm down enough to put her on the couch with a movie so I could step away and compose myself.

Finally we were both ready to begin our day. Finally.

I got down on her level and apologized and tried to make her understand that Mommy is okay but just got upset for a minute. She just looked at me with those big blue eyes and tried to keep her lip from quivering as she said "okay".

Broke my heart. And then it hit. That freaking Mommy guilt.

All day long my heart ached for her and her seeing me so upset. I worried about if she had calmed down, if she'd remember it, if she'd place that sight of me over the ones of my laughing with her and swinging her and playing with her.

I don't think she will, but it's still a nagging thought.

This is why Mom's need time away. Because we are only human with real emotions and real issues that have to be dealt with. And not with our toddlers around.

Of course I took her a surprise when I picked her up and she ran straight for me as usual so I'm pretty sure that morning was already forgotten. By her at least.

This job is hard. There are good days and bad days. Yesterday? was a bad day. Surely that means we are due for some great ones here soon huh?

park day FAIL.

Somehow I think BG hacked into my email and read one of those parenting emails on two year olds and tantrums. And then she decided, "I'll show her a tantrum" and has begun to do that. Good grief y'all. Proof? On Monday I took BG to school for a few hours so that I could get some stuff done on my day off. It was a gorgeous day out, so I decided to pick her up early and take her to the park.

Only the toddler I picked up clearly wasn't my sweet Baby Girl but some Chucky type demon child in a sweet BG body. Good times. She was already upset about her juice (yea, no idea), but I kept driving to the park. Then she saw her blanket on the way out of the car and. oh. my. stars. the meltdown. Once she calmed down from that, we headed to the lake and the ducks but she saw something different and wanted that.

"Miiinnnnneeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" is all she would scream. She planted her feet and refused to move. I had her hand, but she was practically horizontal as she put all thirty three pounds into pulling me backwards.

I was mortified. No lie, I immediately started pitting out as I racked my brain for the best way to handle what was happening in my life at that moment.

Want to know a truth? Before BG, I was so the girl that would have given the mother with the screaming toddler "the look". You know, the look of disdain as I try to send her mind vibes of "can't you control your dang child woman?!". I know. I'm not proud. Now that I am a Mom, if I see that scene, I'm all "that poor woman... thank God it isn't me (this time)".

The only solution was to get the heck out of dodge. And fast.

So I picked up my now limp as a sack of potatoes toddler (who is still screaming mind you) and bolted back through the parking lot to the car.

She was beyond reason, beyond consoling. And so was BG.

Ha.

Seriously, there was no figuring out the problem, the issue, nothing. She was done.

So I put her butt in the car and we left.

No sooner did we get five seconds down the parking lot than I hear a tiny little whimper from the back seat; "I sowwy Mommy".

I looked back to see the biggest, saddest blue eyes and the poutiest little lip ever.

"I park?" she asked.

But I couldn't. I couldn't give in. Which sucked because I so badly wanted to go.

I knew though, that I couldn't give in. A point had to be made. She acted the fool and lost park privileges.

So did Mama. Boo hiss.

Sometimes this parenting thing is super hard and not much fun.

acceptance.

I have watched last weeks episode of Glee no less than five times this weekend. It so gets to me.

This afternoon I took BG to our town's Christmas parade. We managed to find a spot right at the front of the sidewalk in front of this really nice older couple and two young boys. At one point, a young dance troupe went by made up of a few girls and one boy. I heard the boys snickering at this boy but it was what happened next that floored me.

A conversation ensued about this young dancer and at one point I heard the older gentleman say "Oh we'll always be proud of you; unless you become a dancer".

My jaw hit the sidewalk.

But it gets worse; a certain group of people walked by in the parade and the man flat out told the boys not to wave at them.

Do what?!

There are certain things that I think are right and wrong, but it is NEVER my place to judge people. It is my commandment to LOVE them. I plan on raising my child with my beliefs. I want her to know as a child of God that there are ways she is to live her life. That as His child she is not to pass judgement. She is to be kind.

I would be lying if I told you that secretly I don't hope for a soccer player. For an outgoing child that loves music and people and school. But if she's a quiet child that hates sports?(horrors!) I will still love her and be beyond proud of her. That is my job as her parent.

It terrifies me that in a day and age where 11 year olds are committing suicide, that we as parents are not doing more at home to teach acceptance. That we aren't doing more to teach them to love one another. That this kind of pure hatred is still being tolerated. That we aren't teaching our children that is absolutely unacceptable to be just plain mean.

I get that there will be teasing. I get that. But if we as parents aren't drawing a line, then do we have any right to be upset about some of the headlines coming out of our kids schools?

My prayer is that the love of Christ will shine through my daughter. That she will be like Finn in this weeks Glee episode and genuinely care enough about another person that she will fight for them even when they don't know they need it. That she'll stand up for them when everyone else is turning their back. That she will love them, even if they are different from her.

That couple we sat in front of? Very, very nice. They went out of their way to help BG get some candy and even helped point out Santa to her. They were not bad people. If I were to make a snap judgement based on the two things I heard, I would have missed the good in them. And there WAS good. But isn't that exactly what they're doing by labeling that dancer? Or that group of people?

What gives me hope is that it is now my generation raising the kids. And I pray that we are teaching our kids that it is not okay to treat people badly. BG is so good right now. It is mine and her fathers duty to foster that and make her a beautiful person inside and out. The world desperately needs more of those...

you calling her fat?!

The other day, Mr. P and I took BG up to the mall to let her run around the children's play area. He had never been with her before, so it was fun for him to get to see her really interact with other children and just watch her play. She absolutely loves it there. It's so fun to just watch her light up.

As I'm sitting there watching her, a lady (clearly a nanny), comes and sits next to me with a stroller. She lets a tiny little girl out to play while a baby boy keeps sleeping. Pretty soon we make eye contact, I smile, she smiles, and then she nods toward BG and says "Is she yours?".

"Yes" I say, with the smile that always escapes when I even mention my daughter now plastered on my face.

She smiles back and says "how old?".

"Fifteen months" I say still smiling like a buffoon.

Then I see it; the look.

You know "the look". It's the face people make right before they say something rude, condescending, or just plain dumb. In the South, we follow expressions made with said look with the always annoying "bless her (his) heart" or "I don't mean to be rude..".

"Wow. She certainly doesn't miss a meal does she?" the lady says now grinning stupidly at me.

I giggled but inside I was seething and said "yea, she's just a big girl", then slammed my sunglasses back down over my eyes and sat there stewing in my own juices.

Immediately I was furious. Furious at her for basically calling my kid fat; furious at myself for saying what I did because I was uncomfortable; and furious at freaking society for the standards it's placed that make people think they need to say things like that.

For about 2.5 seconds, the Irish temper in me fought to get out and say the same thing to this (slightly overweight) woman.

I'd be lying if I said this was the first time I've heard something along these lines. I get it; my child? not small. But she's far from fat. And if she was, she's fifteen months old.

So shall I be real?

The weight thing is a huge fear of mine. I was actually a small child. Then puberty hit (or living with my grandparents hoarding M & M's hit..), and wow. Not so small. About that same time, I decided a perm would be cool (bad, bad idea), and I was a sight. Middle school Megan? Awkward.

I hated how I looked. I watched the guys I had crushes on chase the skinny girls. I was the fat friend. It was awful.

Fortunately in high school year round soccer shed the baby fat, the perm grew out and braces fixed the triangular shaped teeth. I was in the best shape of my life, but I was far from small. At my thinnest I was weighing in around one hundred fifty pounds.

Yep. Numbers. I said it.

Maybe I just didn't pay attention but I do not remember this intense body scrutiny when I was younger. My ideal size was a six. Purely because Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield were described as being a "perfect, athletic size six". That's what in my mind was perfection. I wasn't a size six. I was a ten. Easily. But I was okay with that. Most of the time. There was one time a guy friend of mine called me "Turkey Neck" and made me quit eating for a week. Then I realized that was stupid and I was hungry and I was cured.

I digress. A six. Do you realize that in today's society, that's practically a plus size?! And while I'm sure I'm exaggerating a bit, it's not by much.

Insane.

To be honest? I don't care what the world says is fat/thin/ugly/pretty. It's my absurd self confidence kicking in. I want to be a happy weight for me, yes, but I know I'm never going to be a size two. Not going to happen. I love the food too much. I don't want to be overweight, so I do what I can to not get that way. Am I going to be miserable to be skinny? No sir.

But what if my child does care? And even if she doesn't, these people who think they have the right to say these comments, they're going to get to her. As much as I would like to carry out a public shanking every time I hear this, I'm not sure that's a grand idea.

PSA: My child is perfect. Your child is perfect. They are babies. She's healthy. Lucky for her right now healthy rocks rubberband smuggling arms and cheeks to die for. It rocks some cellulite on the thighs and a belly that pokes out way past her toes.

She rocks. She's perfect.

I think it's a sad, sad person who has to comment on the size of a fifteen month old. I truly do. But more than that, I think it's a sad, sad world when even at this age, we're judging them.

If my child wants a cookie, she's getting a cookie. And if I give her a cookie in public and I get that look from someone? Well, then I'm giving her another one. Then I'm eating three. And tossing that crankypants a couple.

Give it a rest people. This?


Perfection.

a day.

Yesterday was not a good day.

BG was up bright and early and in rare form for sure. In her defense, I'm pretty sure her teeth have been bothering her big time lately. She's super whiny and super cranky and has been having problems sleeping. Being BG though, she has not let me look in her mouth to see if I can find the pearly white culprits.

I burned breakfast because I got distracted by BG playing in the dog's water bowl. I left the huge puddle she formed on the ground so I could get her fed and then slipped in it later falling flat on my tail and slamming my hand into the kitchen cabinets.

Ouch.

The internet wasn't working and every time I tried to call someone for help, they wouldn't talk to me. I kept hitting brick walls and I was frustrated. I was having one of my down and out days where I obsessively worry about money and wonder if me staying at home is truly what I should be doing now.

BG woke up from her twenty minute nap fighting mad. She didn't want to do anything I allowed her to do, but wanted to climb into and out of boxes, on the furniture, in the toilet; basically everywhere she cannot play. Anytime I moved her I was rewarded with a full on meltdown.

Hanging pictures isn't going well as the walls in this house are some form of plaster. Yet, I won't give up, so I hit the crap out of my thumb ensuing a loud f-bomb from me and giggles and a word way too familiar to the one I just uttered from BG.

Fantastic.

I took her on a run, where she fussed the whole time, I got chased by a chihuahua, and I managed to go through an ant bed that I didn't notice until after my ankles were on fire.

I told Mr. P what a hard day I had and how I actually would LOVE to have a job outside of the home some days.. He made the comment that maybe this was exactly where I'm supposed to be and the Lord is trying to teach me something in dealing with her. Like patience. Fun lesson huh?

I know there will be good days and bad days. I know that. Yesterday was just a really, really hard day.

I don't regret staying home with her and I realize how insanely lucky I am to do that. It's just some days... my boss is very hard to deal with.

This is a hard lesson. Toddlerhood is kicking my arse. No lie.

the big day.

Well.. it's that time.

The day that I've been dreading since Saturday, April 3rd, is here.

I'm heading back to ye 'ol workplace tomorrow.

Honestly, pretty sure I'm going to be an emotional wreck tomorrow. I'm having some severe anxiety about leaving my child with her babysitter. Seriously, can't even think about it.

I have absolutely LOVED these last two months with her. Not going to lie, hardest of my life, but by far the best ever. Especially since we've figured out a routine and have sort of figured each other out. She's made me realize how little sleep I can actually run on. She's also made me love in a way I didn't even realize I was capable of. That little angel is my heart and soul.

I love waking up and going to get her and just seeing her smile. She's so stinking happy. I've loved nursing her. Just me and her for a small amount of time. I'm sorry it didn't work out better for us, but the times it did were awesome.

I love curling up in bed or on the couch with her. Best naps of my life with my girl. I've loved watching her learn. I got to see her learn to play on her mat, the first time she held a rattle, and the first time she smiled.

Honestly, I'm most worried about missing all of her firsts by going back to work. I'm worried that she'll bond more with her sitter than me (I realize that will more than likely not happen, but I said I was a wreck right now didn't I?!). I'm just going to miss our special times together.

I'm going to miss all of our errands and lunches out with friends. I'm just going to miss having all the time in the world to spend with her.

I know it's all going to be fine. I read so many stay at home mom's blogs and I'm just jealous that they get to do that, but it's just not what's right for my family at this time. And I've got to do whats best for all 3 of us. Not just what I want. So I'm going to buck up and hold my head up and get through this work day tomorrow. And then I'm going to come home and love on my girl for hours.


Having a stare down after she repeatedly spit the paci at me. Yes, I'm pretty sure this one will be just like me!

ridiculous.

We are still in NC waiting on the Marine to get home.

We have been here since Saturday.

My poor dogs have been in the kennel since last Thursday.

My poor child has spent more time in a car seat and a Moses basket than any child should be subjected too.

I miss my bed.

The Marine's flight has been delayed multiple times. I can't even tell you how many because my days are blurred together. This is ridiculous. Bring these boys home.

They are now in Charleston, SC. Yes, an hour and a half from my house and we're stuck in NC. Ridiculous.

I'm not aggravated at all.

I'm ready to see my brother and I'm ready to see my dogs and I'm ready to be back home.

I go back to work next week. I want more alone time with my girl.

They should be here in the am. They better be. For my sanity's sake.

Hope things are going well for everyone. I'm trying to check in, but internet use is sporadic at best.

Please let him get home tomorrow!!

back on the fit train. ugh.

So pregnancy does some not so fun things to your body. And it is not okay.

I managed to gain 39 pounds while pregnant. That is a big old belly.

The day I went in to be induced




Yowzers.

I thought I made it through the whole ordeal pretty much stretch mark free until the last week when one little tiny one showed up on my right side.

Ha.

While I was in the hospital I managed to lose 21 pounds. Best. Diet. Ever. Just give birth to a healthy baby girl and then lose a TON of fluid and wa-la. However, I had acquired this scary flap of gushiness. I really can't think of a better way to describe it. It's like a scary skin flap. Ever see Click? Remember when Adam Sandler flaps his skin tongue? Yea. It's like that.

Well not that bad. But I was pretty horrified.

However, not even 1 week after I got home, I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight. Thirty-nine pounds gone. Thank you breast feeding.

But I am still left with a pooch and oh yea, stretch marks. All on my left side where she hung out most of the time and all way down low. Guess the bottom of my belly stretched more than I thought.

Boo.

I may be back to pre-preg weight but my clothes still don't fit right and I still don't feel right. I'm way flabbier and I swear my hips are in a new position. I may not be able to fix the hips but my skin flap is outta here.

I took Baby Girl running the other day and oh. my. gosh. Almost died.

I am so out of shape. And the whole time I was very aware of my hip joints and my suture area. And I also think I could feel my uterus bouncing around in there.

That last part probably didn't really happen but I swear something was going on in there.

This may be a long road.

*After our first run


When I got home I did a few weights and some crunches. Can someone please tell me where I put my abs?! I only knocked out a few sets and thought I saw the Light calling me home so I quit.

I am so out of shape.

The next day I felt like I got hit by a car. We rested that day.

I also signed up to play in my high school's alumni soccer game this Saturday.

Clearly I'm insane. I'm fixing to take my 6 weeks postpartum, 27 year old body out there and subject myself to 90 minutes of running with 17 year olds.

I wonder if I can call in sick to that....

Anyway. Here I am at 5 weeks post delivery.

Definite poochage going on.

I'm going to have to work this off because as I've stated before, I am not a dieter. A dieter wouldn't have consumed the dozen cookies I did today. At least I don't think there's a diet that allows that. If there is, then maybe I am a dieter.

Back on track. So here goes. I'm back on the fit train. I have to work in workout time and make sure I still have enough time for my girl. No going to the gym for hours at a time anymore. When I come home at work, I want it to be about her. So it looks like I'll be running with her. Which is fine. I just have to get re-motivated.

And get my hips to stop hurting. This should be as fun as a barrel o' monkeys. Here goes...

postpartum. the nasty, nasty truth.

I have struggled with this post for a while. But then I figured, I was completely shell shocked by how I have felt these last few weeks and if I can give one person a heads up, then good.

Everyone tells you about pregnancy hormones. On more than one occasion, people joked about it with Mr. Perfect, or with me. It's widely known that pregnant women = not the most rational. This is perfectly accepted. It's expected. I got emails all the time from my pregnancy subscriptions warning me of how I might feel. There's chapters in the baby books. I knew that I was being irrational when I was pregnant, but it was ok. The books said so.

What nobody told me is how I would feel after she got here. Yes, I knew I would be exhausted, I knew I would get frustrated. I didn't know that at times I would look at her and wonder how I got here? Most of the times that was at 3 am when she'd been screaming for hours.

Nobody told me that breastfeeding would make me feel like a complete failure. That junk is hard. I honestly thought it would just be something I could do. No one told me that it might not work for the two of us. No one warned me that she might possibly nurse for hours and still not be satisfied. No one told me that formula might be something we just had to do.

Thankfully I have a few friends who just went though this. My friend, KW, just showed up one day after I didn't answer her texts for a few days. She had gone through the same thing after she had her daughter. Sometimes she would just bust into tears for no reason. I couldn't understand back in September why she wouldn't answer my texts. Now I know.

My best friend, KP, couldn't breatfeed and wouldn't talk about it. I didn't understand how it could be that big of a deal. I couldn't understand why it was so hard. Now I know.

My emotions are out of control. I will be absolutely fine and then something will hit me and I am a disaster. I will go a complete day without touching my phone. Ignoring all texts and calls. I know I'm being a craptastic friend, but honestly? don't care.

Motherhood is hard. I prepared myself for the pregnancy. I even (kind of) prepared myself for the labor and delivery. But I never prepared myself for coming home with her. Its just me and her. Day after day. I've said it before, but I'm not good on my own. I get really down without human companionship and daily interaction with adults. So in ways, this is beating me down emotionally.

I was really beating myself up about breastfeeding. I thought it was my fault and I was taking it very personally that this wasn't going so well for us. Then I got an email from an awesome friend that made me realize I needed to chill out. So I'm going to see a lactation person tomorrow and see if she can help us, but if she can't, well, I'm not beating myself up about it. I tried.

Last night as I changed diaper number 300 of the day at 4:00 am I looked down at Baby Girl and fell in love all over again. I do that about 70 times a day. Because the thing is, yea, this is hard on me, but its hormones and it's NORMAL. It may not be talked about as often as the hormones of pregnancy, but its very real. But the fact of the matter is, I can't stop thanking God for this little angel. When I'm up at night feeding her, I remember how long I was afraid I would never have the chance to do the late night feedings, or change my child's diaper. I waited years for this and if I have to take the bad with the good, I will. Because shes so worth it.

blech.

Sorry for my lack of checking in, but the plague has settled in over the Imperfect household. And it sucks.

Sleep would be nice to sleep this crud off, but ya know, there's no sleep to be found for this girl. So I'm nice and cranky and sick. Just keeping it real.

Hope you're all having a great week. Be back soon!

women.

Here's what I don't understand. Women have had a hard road to get where we are today. Ladies before us busted their a*$es to work and fight for the things we get to enjoy today. We are a powerful group. We can still rock a board meeting, give birth, run a marathon, and run our daily errands wearing 5 inch heels and a smile. Well... most of the time. We can vote, we can hold incredible jobs, we can voice our opinions and have it heard and taken seriously. Yet, we still have one major thing that is always trying to hold us back.

Other women.

Seriously. What is the deal? I've never understood the cattiness of women. All my life I've been closer with guys. Because you know where you stand with them. I like the whole "what you see is what you get" thing. They're honest.

A woman?

Will stab you in the back quicker than you can say "stiletto". And I do not get it.

If you don't like something that someone says, then don't agree with them. Simple. You don't have to not only disagree, but take their words and belittle them to the point that they feel 2 inches tall. I mean, come on. Some women are prettier, some are smarter, some make prettier babies (hey, I'm honest), but every single person out there is struggling with something. Why do we as a group have to make it harder for us to get through the day?

That's all I've got to say about that. I just don't get it. And I think there's been way too much of it all around lately. Chill out ladies, and put those claws away. It's actually ok to be nice and supportive. Shocker huh?!

a bit of self-examination.

I am not a patient person. I know this about myself and I'm ok with it. I get really, really cranky when I'm tired and can literally feel myself hit a "snapping" point. I can point out the minute I'm about to "freak out". I try to walk away before I say something I will later regret. I don't like change. At all. I am ridiculously OCD. If you use the same spoon to dip out mayonnaise that you just used in the mustard, it will bother me. For days. I will have to throw away the mayo. I like my space and I like things in my space done my way. Sometimes I feel like I'm an 80 year old man, cranky and set in my ways, but I can't help it.

I hate seeing Mr. Perfect in pain, but this week has made me stretch myself in ways I never imagined and learn some things about myself. I've gotten up every 3 hours since Friday to take care of him. Apparently last night I started sleeping through my alarm and Mr. Perfect was having to do stuff on his own. I got really upset. Did I mention I'm also not good at feeling like I've failed at something? Like taking care of those around me.

I get very scared of how I'm going to handle things come April when my life takes on a humongous change. But then I realize I did it this week, with no help, and I've survived (well almost, he still hasn't been cleared to do anything). In April I'll at least have help and now I know, I CAN do this. It's going to be hard and I'm going to have many mental breakdowns, but I will do this and I will do this well.

It's medication time. I'll see you guys on the flip side. I promise to be cheerier next week. =)

oh scary night....

A few weeks back, I survived one of the scariest nights of my life.

And so did the neighborhood cats. Of course, they came closer to death than they even realize.

I had gone to bed pretty early (shocker), so I was asleep when Mr. Perfect came to bed. I do vaguely recall him coming to bed and the dogs coming into the room and settling in for the night. I figured I might as well get up and make one of my 20 nightly bathroom trips since I was kind of awake now anyway.

Just as I was attempting to heave myself out of the bed, I heard this horrible banging noise. All at once, the dogs went nuts and Mr. Perfect was out of bed in less than 2 seconds. I'm still half unconscious, but I remember hearing the noise again. It sounded like an elephant was trying to come through Baby Girl's bedroom window on the front of our house.

Mr. Perfect was out of our room in seconds. Next thing I know he's back in our room hollering at me to get up that someone is trying to break in the house. He tells me to stay in our room with the dogs (who are going bat nuts crazy at this time) and tosses me a banana*.

(*Ok, not really a banana, but one of those scary, metal things that I'm not a fan of. Remember?)

Are you kidding me?

So Mr. Perfect takes off back into the hall with another banana (we are protected in the Imperfect home) and shuts me in the bedroom with the dogs with the instructions to "use all 12 rounds if anyone gets by me". OMG.

I am shaking like a leaf and can still hear the horrible banging outside and yet, all I can think about is how bad I now have to pee. I am almost in tears as I sit there and debate whether I should just chance it and go. I'm afraid I might wet myself if I stay on the floor much longer, but do I really want to get shot while on the toilet if someone does happen to get by Mr. Perfect?!

I decided not to risk it, so I sit there on the cold floor with my dogs and my banana and try not to freak out.

About 5 minutes (ok, it was probably seconds, but y'all, I really had to pee!), Mr. Perfect comes back in the room and he was pissed.

"What's going on?" I managed to squeak out through chattering teeth.

"F*&^ing (told you he was pissed) neighborhood cats are fighting on the roof and throwing each other into the window" he manages to spit out.

Once again, are you kidding me? I almost wet myself over some stray cats?!?

Thankfully that was all it was, however, I was totally terrified. It took me forever to get back to sleep that night. Stupid cats.

.....and he's off... well, kind of.

So this past weekend, Mr. Perfect and I packed up and headed to Base, North Carolina to see the Marine off to Afghanistan. As is typical with the military, things didn't go quite as planned.

Meaning the Marine is still here just waiting around to find out when he's actually leaving.

Which I'm totally cool with him still being here, but the sooner he leaves, the sooner he gets back, and I'm super ready for that part.

We had a great time just hanging out with him and the family this past week. Besides the fact that it was freezing and I suck at packing warm enough clothes. Someday I will figure out how to pack appropriately.

Maybe.

We got him some pictures and cards and stuff to take with him. I filled the album I gave him with ridiculous photos to of everyone to make him laugh and at the end was an ultrasound picture of Shim with the caption "Hurry Home! I'll be waiting to meet you!" (cue "awww").



Mr. Perfect and I also got him this awesome do-rag (spelling?), you know, so he could "take some peace to the Middle East". Yep, I said it.



We got to meet the Marine's dog that is headed overseas with him. Wow. What a bundle of energy. Without going into too much detail, the Marine will be working with a group of Marines and a group of dogs over in A-stan. They've spent a while working with these dogs and bonding with them. These dogs are insane. But they are smart, and are very good at what they do.







One night, Mr. Perfect and I went and helped take care of the dogs for the night with a few of the Marines. Besides my now dislocated shoulder thanks to a bucking bronco on crack lab named Barbaro, it was a blast. I tried to get a picture of Mr. Perfect walking Ellie, but Barbaro was at this moment trying to kill me.


How did I get the insane one?!

Then I got to walk Mag. He was awesome. Not surprised that he's one of everyone's favorites.

The rest of the week/weekend was just spent doing the family thing; eating, watching movies, etc. I was really bummed we didn't actually get to see him leave, but it was still ridiculously hard to leave him behind. We took a few family shots before we left, and then Mr. Perfect and I headed on home. I do so already miss my little bro.

But hey, when we make the trek back up there in May to welcome him home, he'll have a new addition to meet! Can't wait for that!







Please keep the Marine as well as all the other troops currently serving our country in your prayers.. God knows they need it.

Dear People

Ok People. You're killing me. I know I cannot be the only person in America whose tired of opening her mailbox weekly and seeing a Gosselin staring her in the face. Enough of the he said/she said bull. It is not that slow of a work week that Jon & Kate deserve a People cover, let alone multiple ones! Can we please talk about something else instead of the "I'm famous for giving birth to a ridiculously large litter of children and ruining my marriage for televising every little step of our lives together" couple of the week?!

Jon is a tool. Kate is whiny and a little bit crazy. Next....

Teddy Kennedy got a blip on the front page. Kate and Jon? Multiple covers. Huh?!?

Sincerely,

A Disgruntled Reader

rainy saturday random thoughts...

It is raining. Again. It has rained basically every afternoon this week. What is the deal? Is this Florida?!

Lately I've been having to get my medication filled at the pharmacy in the hospital. I prefer the Walgreens by my house. They are friendly, efficient, and always have my prescriptions ready when they say they will. The hospital pharmacy? Not so much. Last week Mr. Perfect and I drove all the way to the other side of town to pick up a medication. They didn't have it. So we tracked the 20 or so minutes back home, through traffic, with no medication. I called the doctor's office the next morning to get them to call it in again. They did. Turns out it was on the pharmacy voicemail and they hadn't checked it all day. Not my problem. Check your voicemail. Last night? Same exact thing. I got there at just after five. Nothing ready for me. These are meds that I HAVE to have. That I needed that night. They can't find it anywhere. Funny how five people came in after me, all who had left voicemails, and they couldn't find any one's prescription. The staff there is the most incompetent group of people ever. I never did get my meds last night. Not a happy camper.`

Last Sunday when I got home from my soccer game, the Mr. had completely redone the living room. It's taken a week but it's growing on me. I'll have to get some pictures and put them on here. He really did manage to rearrange the furniture to where the whole room seems a whole lot more open. It really does a lot for the room.

How am I just now discovering the Tori Spelling tv show?!? I absolutely love it! Her children are complete dolls and I really like her and her husband. I'm surprised by that. I used to think she was super annoying.

I'm reading 'The Time Traveler's Wife' again to get ready for the movie. I really cannot wait for it to come out. Of course I also said that about 'Harry Potter' and 'My Sister's Keeper' and have yet to see either one. Guess I'll be waiting for NetFlix!

Things in our little household are still very much up in air. We're doing great, but are still in need of serious prayer. Thanks for checking in with us. I will definitely blog more when I can. Have a great weekend all!

oh monday, you are a devilish thing...

Image

I want to climb back into my bed and pull the covers over my head.

Instead I'm off to work. I'm so over having to work for a living.

Clearly I'm bright and cheery this morning.

I so need coffee.

oops.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret.

I have the tendency to be quite flaky.

Rats. It's not something I aspired to be, it's just something that I deal with. I am ridiculously organized about most things. My bills are paid on time, I never miss work, I can find anything in my house in less than 2 seconds, my closet is sick organized by color, fabric, and sleeve length... But 9 times out of 10 I can't find my keys. Or my cell phone. I forget to lock doors or I flake out on something I was supposed to go do.

I have to write everything down. I live by my day planner. Yes, I still have an old school planner and I will not give it up. I will never make it anywhere if I don't write it down.

Last night I took Lacy running. We went to a neighborhood about 2 miles from our house where it's a bit safer for us to run and not get hit by a car. Important right? I took my key (which is this huge, monstrosity of a thing) and clipped it to Lacy's collar. I do this every time. I don't like having to hold things while I run. So we finish our 3 miles and get back to the car. I bend down to get the key off her collar and it's not there.

Crap.

So we start walking a little bit back to look for it. By this point, I'm basically dragging Lacy to keep her moving. Why don't I just call Mr. Perfect to come get us?

Because I forgot my freaking phone.

Crap.

Mr. Perfect is HUGE on taking your phone with you wherever you go. Or maybe he's just huge on me taking my phone wherever I go since I seem to have the ability to get into "situations".

What to do?!

My poor dog is giving me these huge puppy dog eyes basically begging me to let her lie down. Well she shouldn't have lost my key.

Yep. Blame the dog. Real mature.

So we had to walk the 2 miles home. On one of the busiest, narrowest streets in town. We would sprint down the road when there were no cars coming and then have to jump on to the shoulder when there were cars coming. It. Was. Not. Fun.

I should write a letter to our city about the condition of the side of the roads. I don't know how we didn't get bit by a snake.

Finally, we made it home. What do I see the minute I walk in the kitchen? My phone, on the counter. Mr. Perfect was furious. I was mad he didn't come looking for us.

I have this incredible gift of turning my irrational anger on someone else. Lacy got it the whole way home. Mr. Perfect got it when I got home. See how none of this was my fault?!?

Yea. I know. I really wish things like this weren't the norm for me, but... It should be no surprise that I'm terrified I will completely lose my mind when I get older.

I don't think Lacy will go running with me again for a while. Sorry Lacy. I also think Mr. Perfect will tie my phone on me next time. Poor boy.. I don't know how he deals with me.

doctor update

Warning: Post below is full of female medical jargon. Feel free to fly right on past if you want.

A couple weeks ago, we went back to Dr. O for our "monitored ovulation" appointment. Basically he used an ultrasound to see what my ovaries were doing during my current cycle. We went in on Thursday the 18th and saw his nurse for our appointment. Basically everything looked right on track. It was still early (which I knew because I chart, thank you Mrs. Newlywed for helping me with that!), but for the point in my cycle everything looked good. From what she could tell, I was ovulating off my left side and the follicle which I was ovulating from was measuring 16 x 16. Really no idea what that means, but they want it at 20 x 20 to consider the follicle healthy. Also my endometrium (lining of the uterus) was measuring at a 6, which is the minimum they want when you ovulate. Overall, everything looked great for a couple days prior to ovulation. I was thrilled that something was going right.

They wanted me to come back in on Saturday morning to take a look again. So we got up bright and early and headed back up to the hospital, everyone's favorite place to be on their day off. Basically the appointment was craptastic. My follicle was now measuring 17 x 13 and is considered "abnormal" and my endometrium was still only measuring at a 6. It hadn't gotten any thicker at all. It was still early, but the follicle should have been around a 20 x 20 at this point and clearly that wasn't going to happen. The possibility of us doing the next pregnancy try without the use of fertility drugs?

Nonexistent.

Clomid is not an option for me since it tends to thin out your endometrium and mine is already thin enough, so Dr. O sent me for more blood work (vampires!) to figure out his next course.

I. Am. So. Frustrated.

I really thought this was one test that I would ace. I mean clearly I ovulate; I've been pregnant four times for crying out loud. I had a mini-breakdown when leaving on Saturday. Mr. Perfect tried to make me see reason by reminding me that this can be fixed, that there are drugs for this.

Well I know that. But I just wanted one thing to go right.

I had my blood drawn on Monday I had to fast and then go in and get my post ovulation progesterone levels taken and my glucose and insulin tested. Got my results on that today. My progesterone showed that I had ovulated but it was pretty low. Not surprising since it has been low every single pregnancy and I always get put on progesterone shots immediately. My glucose came back good but my insulin came back high. As did my glucose/insulin ratio. I don't really understand much about that. From what the nurse told me, it can predispose you to diabetes but not necessarily. In fact if any of you nurses out there can hook me up with a bit of info about this, I would be forever grateful. I go back Tuesday for a glucose curve (sounds super fun) and then the next Tuesday for a consult.

Know what that means?

We don't try this month. Not until we figure out this new little curve ball.

I am cussing internally. I am so frustrated.

Did I already say that?!?

I think there's a little bucket up in heaven that has my healthy reproductive system in it. I wish it would drop on down. I think my patience and my real nose are in there too. I feel like I'm about to lose it. I'm going to need one thing to go right soon...