As I sit down to write this list, I'm laughing to myself because in real life I'm a pretty optimistic and happy person. Truly. I mean it! I like people! Most days...
So please read this list and know that I'm not actually an angry old troll who lives under a bridge. I just like to dress up as one sometimes, and vent. Plus, my husband has a thing for my angry old troll costume. *rawr*
6 SIGNS THAT YOU'RE ANNOYINGLY PERFECT
6) YOU INSTAGRAM-FILTER-THE-SHIT OUT OF EVERYTHING IN YOUR LIFE: Okay, I get it: you're really pretty and have awesome skin. Okay, I get it: you eat really healthy breakfasts with spinach. Okay, I get it: your house looks like something out of the pages of House and Home magazine. Barf. Barf. Barf. Show me the selfie you accidentally snapped when you thought your camera was facing the other way, and then we can be friends.
5) YOU SAY YOU LIKE EVERYONE. "No, seriously. There is no one that I don't like." If this is a true, I can punch you in the face. If you still like me after that, I can punch you in the junk. If you still say you like everyone after that? Then I'll assume you're a serial killer and skin cats in your spare time.
4) EVERYTHING MATCHES. EVERYTHING IS ORGANIZED. ALWAYS. I know some people have serious OCD issues, so they are excused from this list. But everyone else: enough is enough! You are suffocating your creativity by creating spaces too perfect to fart in! You're so hyper-organized that your labeller needs a label. Just STOP! (This has nothing to do with the fact that despite my best efforts to keep my "junk drawer" semi-organized, in less than 7 days it looks like it was ravaged by hungry bears. But it's also called a "junk drawer" for a reason, right?)
3) YOU NEVER SWEAR. If you're super religious, I get it. You're trying to stay in your Worshiper's good books. But for everyone else? You need to swear, at least sometimes. Words like "Pumpernickel" in place of "F*cking-sh*t-balls," just won't cut it. Let loose. It feels great.
2) EVEN WHEN YOU'RE CAMPING, YOUR HAIR LOOKS AMAZING WITHOUT TRYING. Are you a genetically modified human being? What is your secret? I know this isn't your fault per se, but I still hate you a little for it...
1) IF EVER I COMPLAIN ABOUT SOMETHING, YOU SYMPATHETICALLY LISTEN AND THEN TELL ME A STORY ABOUT HOW YOUR LIFE IS THE OPPOSITE:
Me: "Wow, I've been feeling so bloated lately. I feel like I've gained 10 pounds this week."
You: "Oh really? That's funny, because I've been feeling the opposite. I tried on some of my skinny jeans yesterday and they were actually loose. Weird."
Note: that isn't "funny" or "weird" that was just annoying as hell. Excuse me while I devour a box of doughnuts now...
So if you are one of "those" people who is always "annoyingly perfect" please, take note. I'll like you a little more of you loosen the f*ck up, and tell me the secret to your awesome hair. Oh, and if you want to come organize my junk-drawer, that would be okay too.
If you've been following my blog, you might remember earlier in my pregnancy I wrote a post about the pros of Midwives vs the pros of Doctors. At the time, I had decided to go with a midwife (with my son, we had an OB) and I was very excited about my decision, because I had heard so many great things about midwives.
I had fantasies of a life-long friendship that would begin at our first appointment—We would braid our armpit hair together as we shared home-made granola recipes! We'd give ourselves matching henna tattoos that read, "Epidurals are for suckers." Then we'd laugh in unison as we casually noticed we were wearing matching Birkenstocks.
Unfortunately, this intentionally stereotpyical and possibly offensive daydream was quickly brought to a hault. From day one, I never felt 100% comfortable with my midwives or the clinic. Here's why:
All in all, it wasn't the warm, re-assuring, comforting experience I was expecting, and, truly, I didn't feel comfortable trusting them to bring my baby into the world.
So, I did what any woman at 33 weeks pregnant would do—I called my OB and begged for forgiveness, "I know I said I wanted to go with a midwife, but . . . would you take me back?" With my tail between my legs, they welcomed me with open arms.
I did a tour of the hospital I'd be delivering at, and within 0.5 seconds I fell in love with the nurse giving the tour. She was exactly the type of person I wanted—someone kind, yet strong, and knowledgeable. She was warm, easy to talk to, and laughed at my jokes (bonus!). At the end of the tour she said, "What is your name? I'm going to keep my eye out for you—I hope I get to be your nurse!"
Aw shucks. I hope so too, nurse Katherine!
With a second baby coming in six short weeks, I got thinking about sleeping arrangements. Already, this baby isn't getting their own room (sorry, baby), because I know we will be co-sleeping for the first several months. And then after that?
Who freaking knows!
It will be an interesting combination of, "Whatever the hell works!"
Maybe I'll sleep in bed with the baby, and hubby will sleep in the spare room? Maybe Cole and the baby will share a room? Maybe Cole and Tyler will share a room? Maybe the baby and Cole will each have their own room?
We will have to see how it goes, but this whole thought process got me thinking about the various sleeping arrangements we've had over the past 22 months at our house, and here is the evolution. Through illustrations!