First of all.
I just got a comment stating that my blog isn't up to the standard it used to be and this person is concerned that I am going to lose followers. Or something. "Not to be rude".
Hey, lady that doesn't know me, yeah, you know what? There's quite a bit going on my life right now including but not limited to: things I don't want to publicly share, a sick mommy (me), and a sick baby (kinda time consuming). I'm soooo sorry (sarcasm) I haven't been composing the works of literary art that satisfy the level of greatness you expect from my blog.
I mean, your blog is just so beautifully written -- oh wait. You don't have one. Or an e-mail address for me to reply to you, hence the public response.
Oh, and prefacing a statement with "not to be rude" doesn't negate it's rudeness. And pretending to have some sort of deep concern for the number of followers I have doesn't lessen the aforementioned rudeness either.
Now that THAT'S out of the way. grrrrrrrrrrrr
I got an ENTIRE night off yesterday! MUCH needed. I've had a rough couple of weeks.
My hard-working hubba hubba husband took Avery to see Shrek and I went to Cougartown a birthday party my mother-in-law was hosting for her sister-in-law. It's funny, even when I'm without Avery, which is rare, I'll randomly experience pangs of complete panic where I'll subconsciously think, "SHIT! WHERE'S AVERY?! Is she drowning/playing with glass/choking?!" Relaxation is a weird feeling when you have a toddler, like it's so uncommon and foreign it's actually not even relaxing anymore.
Troy has taken Avery out by himself a handful of times. Maybe 4 or 5 times. I have no idea how it went. An 18 month old in a movie theater! Eek! When I got home he acted kinda like he had just witnessed a murder or something equally traumatic. He was in the fetal position in bed when I walked in our room with his back turned to me and barely said a word. I'm thinking maybe he had to change a diaper containing the remnants of Ave's lingering stomach flu. He hasn't changed a "number two" diaper in well over a year, let alone a "number three" diaper.
Anyway, spirits were high when the night started, he sent me a text that read "Daddy time!", followed by this picture:
... to which I responded:
Slurpee + Backstreet Boys+ No sick baby = Hellooooo, Perfection.
And I got to watch the American Idol finale (which.was.amazing) uninterrupted by bath time or bedtime. For the record, I almost lost it when "Pants on the Ground" guy came out. Here's a text between a friend and me during the epic performance. My text is in the green bubbles.
Well, my toddler needs tending to because she's sick, so I apologize if this post is substandard.
You can't see my face, but be assured I'm rolling my eyes.