RAGE

The next person that says anything along the lines of "You're so tiny, I hate you" or "You don't look six months pregnant!" is going to get their face ripped off. Who cares if I don't "look" six months pregnant, I know when I'm due, I'm not going to lie, so stop making me feel worse. You have no f'ing clue how this pregnancy is going, so back off.

When you meet me on the walking trail and I have three large dogs and a toddler with me, don't say "Boy, you sure have your hands full" in a condescending tone. Especially if your tiny rat-dog is trying to attack my dogs that are sitting nicely by the stroller looking mildly interested. I might accidently drop a leash and your dog might accidently get eaten. Or I might just try out my mace.

I realize it's only 9am and I shouldn't have quite this much rage this early in the morning, but at least my chocolate chip waffles calmed me down a bit. And I've only cried once so far today, which is quite the improvement off the last month and a half. I'm also feeling rather defiant, as in "Yes, I have prenatal depression and no, it does not make me an awful person. It just makes me super fun to live with." Why shouldn't I admit it? I know for a fact (at least if my OB isn't lying to me) that it is more common that most people let on, so why shouldn't I be the lone pissy pregnant person to stand up (behind the mask of the internet) and say yeah, there is such a thing, people deal with it, it totally sucks, but we're normal.

I will now go back to my regular scheduled day. Bath time for BP, then smoothie to share.

The Morning Battle

The morning battle starts around 7:15am. I am fresh out of the shower, bundled in my fluffy bathrobe, staring at the clothes in my closet.

There are a few new sections in my closet:

Never going to fit again (yet good for motivation after Babybabypants comes)

Fit last week but not yesterday

Maternity (97% too big still)

I stand for a few minutes contemplating just how motivated I am to wear something other than sweats (not very) before giving up and heading back to bed. Maybe, just maybe, if I lay down for a few more minutes, someone will invent a size 32F bra that doesn't look grandmother-ish, and perfectly fitting clothes (not sweats) will appear. Or at least Alexa will bring me my socks.

Introductions

Well, I guess this is it. The Introduction. The part where I tell a slimmed-down version of my life story. It sounds rather boring, to tell you the truth, so instead, I will just brag.

I like to think that I'm still considered young, but some may disagree. I'm 24 years young, "just a spring chicken" according to my grandma, and have a stubborn, impatient, absolutely perfect one (almost two!) year old daughter. I've been married to Mr. Right for 2.5 years and we all live in Nevada with our three unruly dogs and one somewhat creepy cat. We are awaiting the arrival of Babybabypants, due September 11. I don't think that date will come fast enough.

As of now, I am a licensed home daycare provider. Meaning I am absolutely insane. I only have a couple extra kiddos in my care, but some days it seems that I am slowly losing control. Funny how that happens. I also write, obviously, for fun, and I have an online baby store that's more of a hobby than anything. Especially considering the laptop with all of my information just died. And my sewing machine crapped out. When it rains, it pours, right?

I also must admit that I am nowhere near a perfect mother. I have come to the point where I no longer even know what perfect means. To me, the fact that my child survives solely on Mac n Cheese, waffles, and PB&J's is irrelevant. At least she's eating. And there's dairy in the macaroni, protein in the peanut butter, fruit in the jam, and I'm sure those other food groups are in there somewhere. I let her dance to rap music, make huge messes that only a bath and/or hose can clean, and choose her own clothes (unless of course we are going out in public, then her choices may be vetoed). I pick my battles wisely. As long as she's happy, I consider my job done. She says "peese" and "tank you" many times a day, she has only bitten one child today, and she tells me "I wub you, too, Mommypeepants" before bed. I'd say I'm at least average.

Welcome to my life.