I read Jenny’s recent post with a lot of interest. I think her point there and, even more, her point here, are basically what I was trying to say here. I thought it then and I still think it now: we have a shortage of religious vocations because sex has been oversold. Consequence-free sex. And even those of us who go into marriage committed to Church teaching probably still underestimate the consequences. This makes me sound . . . um . . . frustrated and dissatisfied. And I’m not, generally. It’s just that the consequences of my sex life are still screaming at me at friggin’ 10 pm, as per usual the past few weeks, and the convent is starting to sound not half bad . . . .
Seriously, the brattiness levels here have been off the charts. I understand why some find the word “brat” offensive. I’d never call my child, or any other child, a brat within their hearing. Maybe they’ll read this in five or ten years and be offended but seriously . . . if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, looks like a duck, etc.
I was so out of commission the first three months of this pregnancy, I must have let discipline slide a lot. I generally did whatever was the path of least resistance. I don’t remember many details. But man, give them an inch. . . . We still get fast food way too often, but I’m cutting back. It got to the point (still is at the point) where, if they get nuggets and fries Chick-Fil-A, they whine because I didn’t also get them ice cream. Ridiculous. For Pat and me both, eating out was a huge treat when we were growing up. And for my kids it’s no big deal. And of course the only one I have to blame is myself
. . . and the new baby. Even now, at 18 or so weeks, I can’t stand the thought of cooking meat. I cooked some bacon the other day, and I just recently started heating up those pre-grilled Tyson frozen chicken strips and can stand to eat them. But thinking about them grosses me out. I’ve been eating a lot of cold cuts, and beans. But you can only eat so many beans.
My scathingly brilliant idea I just came up with this evening is to buy a bag of miniature marshmallows. Tomorrow evening, I’ll set out 5 for each girl. Every time they get out of bed or scream at me from bed, I throw away a marshmallow. I think I got the idea from this:
I’ll let you know how it works.
Y’all, I am just so tired.
This is the story of my life right now.
I’m mostly stopped trying to do any more than I can do. It’s just what I can do is so pitifully little.
We have a contract on a house, and it’s an emotionally exhausting process. I remember–now–why we said, “never again!” when we did this seven years ago.
Basically, the house we’re looking to buy has everything we want: location, size, layout, yard, view. It also has mold, radon, and bats. Oh my! And it’s at the tippy-top of our price range. I have plans to write a post titled, “Kicking Dave Ramsey to the Curb,” because that’s what we’re doing. So crazy. We’re still in the middle of inspections and negotiations, so it may all fall through.
I love Lisa’s summer momiform. I’ve been shopping at LOFT a lot too, since Girl1 has a weekly vision therapy appointment in a professional/retail complex that has a LOFT at the other end. I drop Girl 1 off, then mosey through the parking lot with Girl2, who has to balance-walk on every curb, inspect every blob of guano, and generally move at a snail’s pace. Then I have about ten minutes to look through the store and hurriedly try things on before going back through the parking lot to get Girl 1.
Then walk back through the parking lot to try more things on while the girls scream and shriek at each other, fondle the jewelry, lick the mirrors, turn off the store lights, etc.
Then I maybe buy something, or maybe have a saleslady order a size or color not available in store through the website for me, because shipping is free if you order through the store. Then we leave a stuffed mermaid in the store, just for the fun of returning for the third time in one day.
Then the next week, I bring 75% of my purchases to the store to return them (saving on return shipping fees) and repeat steps 1 through 1,000,000.
After all that, though, I have no cute maternity outfits to show you. Today, this was my #ootd and it possibly also was my #potnb*, embellished by the three-year-old with thigh sequins and a makeshift Frozen necklace.
(*pajamas of the night before)
I bought these Lou & Grey linen “jogger” pants (in navy blue) at full price (ouch) and they were worth it because they are so comfortable. The waist is huge, which works as my belly is expanding. I don’t look really pregnant yet, but the belly’s definitely expanding in a slow, all-over spread. The pants are really baggy and probably look awful but I don’t care. I also got these linen pants when LOFT was running a 50% off in-store special; same deal: baggy, frumpy, comfy.
I’ve fallen into the trap of feeling fat and buying clothes that are too big, which makes me look sloppy and bigger. I’ve fallen and I can’t get out.
But it’s an ego boost. I made a huge order of maternity pants from Asos and nothing fit. I ordered them all about a size bigger than my pre-pregnancy size. I still have post-traumatic stress from ordering maternity jeans last go-round 1 and 2 sizes up from my pre-pregnancy size and still barely getting them past my knees. Oh the misery. Never again.
So. This time I ordered all these baggy, jogger-style pants a size up and they were ridiculously, ridiculously huge. Like these:
During her first pregnancy, my sister Martha ordered a bunch of maternity stuff from Asos. She mentioned to me that she returned everything because “nothing really worked.” And I remember thinking, “Seriously? Do you really need to be that picky?” (Don’t you wish you had me as an older sister?) And now . . . .
Also, I ordered some maternity shorts from Target (these and these). They’re all fine, but my legs already are retaining water like you would not believe. This happened with my prior pregnancy, too. I felt like such a fat cow. “omg! I’m eating so much my legs have gotten visibly fatter!” But now I realize it’s just water. And there’s not much I can do about it. Except to drink more water (trying to), eat more protein (trying to, but see meat problem, supra), and (supposedly) wrap wet cabbage leaves around my legs (nope).
So I’m returning all the shorts. There’s no need to expose my legs to the world. Except I might possibly keep this linen pair, again non-maternity, again from Lou & Grey. Because it is summer, after all.
And if only my dimples were on my face.
Whew! Okay, the girls finally have fallen asleep. . . . Thank you for anyone still reading through to the end of this ramble. I’ve missed writing here. I wish you all the best for the rest of the week, and I hope to post again soon.