Tuesday, April 21, 2015

All the Stuff You Can Do In Eleven Weeks

"And she was all, 'I have the eye of the tiger,' but then she just started crying."

Afternoon Readers,

People sometimes ask me how I balance writing books, blogs, and getting my ends trimmed once a year. It's a great question, and the answer usually falls into one of two categories.

A. Poorly
B. Very Poorly

Don't get me wrong. Occasionally, a week pops up where I'm all, "Look at me doing all the things before five. And now, pizza for everyone!" (Pizza isn't a celebratory food here. It's my go-to about seven days a week.) But most of the time, the situation around Kellerman house is carefully controlled anarchy with a side of laundry, delicately garnished with a smidgeon of toddler tears. That's the usual. However, life is life, and sometimes that chaos gets turned up a notch, and an internet vacation is in order.

I am woman. Hear me roar and then crawl back under my duvet.

So what have I been up to for the last few weeks? It's only fair to get you up to speed. For the record, I haven't bought an island, retired with with seven pet monkeys, and been working on a new formula for Nair that doesn't burn. It's much more complicated than that.

All the Stuff You Can Do In Eleven Weeks
(Unless your into totally different stuff)

1. Get pregnant.

2. Find out you're pregnant.

3. Feel super fat by week four.

4. Take a few days to cry at random times. Although you're happy about everything, the reality hits you that you're about to become the head of a small army. And, oh yeah, doesn't that baby have to get out of there somehow?

5. Call your husband tell him how good you feel. This is probably the pregnancy where you feel awesome for all forty weeks.

6. Get up the next day and realize you're going to die. 

7. In between lying on the floor in a nausea-induced state, you mull over the benefits of a good old fashioned 1930's delivery. Surely there were many silver linings to simply being knocked unconscious and handed the baby you assumed was yours after the whole thing was over.

8. Between being disgusted at every food ever except pasta salad and wondering if a fourth baby can sleep in a dresser drawer in one of the other kid's rooms, field questions about whether you're carrying one baby or two. This is fun because you still have no idea, and that idea isn't terrifying to you at all.

9. Go back to bullet point eight and wonder if everyone is implying you're huge already or if they're simply anxiety fairies, handing out free panic attacks.

10. Life hasn't stopped, so you're going to need to simultaneously keep doing all the stuff you regularly do:

Dinner
Laundry
Self pity
Registering the twins for Kindergarten
Keeping the toddler from sitting on the cat, until he taps out
Refusing to wear maternity clothes because that's not necessary until two weeks ago.

11. The nausea clears and you head to Dairy Queen. So elated to hear your favorite song and be handed an upsidedown Reeses Blizzard through your driver's side window, you floor it across the parking lot and almost run over a family of four.  They yell at you. But life's ok again, so ice cream today, self-loathing tomorrow.

This is what I like to call a transitional year. 

i.e. I transition into not knowing what the hell I'm doing yet again. But that's ok. Food is good again, and yoga pants are always in season. The minivan's about to get fuller, but we always have enough room for another small hitchhiker. 

We're gonna have to order more pizza though.

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