Everything and the kitchen sink.

I’d write a post, but I don’t have much to write about.

James and I are leaving tonight to head most of the way down to Minneapolis. My sciatica doesn’t like it when I sit for 3 and a half hours, so we’re staying at a hotel tonight before my appointment on Friday morning. If I was able to schedule my appointments for later in the day we’d be able to stop along the way and it wouldn’t be so bad. Alas, I am at the mercy of a scheduling diva who doesn’t understand or care of my plight. Upon hearing this my OB demanded I tell her to shove it and to schedule me for later, but I am far too passive aggressive.

I finally talked to my mom yesterday. She brought Buster in on Monday to be put to sleep. He didn’t even stand up and pretend to look out the windows on their ride, it was as if he knew. Even though this event was a long time coming, I still feel massive amounts of guilt. My mother refuses to tell me how she is doing when I ask her. This could be because she doesn’t want me to feel even more guilty or because she’s an emotionless Scandinavian. It’s probably a combination of both.

I’ve never seen my mother cry. Through my parents’ messy divorce, and through the deaths of both of her parents and her grandson I never saw one tear fall. I am sure she saves it for when she’s alone in her room. I do wonder what would happen if she let go while in front of us. If she’d be able to plug the dam up again or if it would all just come pouring out.

Me? I am a crier. I hate letting other people see me cry, but since Ethan’s death I haven’t been able to plug my own dam. Add in some pregnancy hormones and the tiniest thing makes me cry. Before I know it rivers of tears are flowing down my cheeks. My only concern is that of the kids and what they must think. Emma’s gotten used to seeing me cry for no reason at all but Abby freaks out if she sees my blood shot eyes. Somehow this child has made it her duty in life to make me happy and it’s a struggle for me on days like these to pretend to be happy.

Oh how my Norwegian grandma would be so disappointed in me if she knew that I let my emotions show.

I can’t wallow in it, though. Abby is currently trying to make herself pregnant with a stuffed kitten toy. There’s a pile of laundry sitting on my bed for me to fold and pack. There’s another pile of laundry to wash on my bed because Abby’s diaper leaked last night. A suitcase that needs to be packed and an air bed that needs to be brought upstairs for my mother in law to sleep on tonight. Plus, lunch to be made, a shower to be taken, and legs to shave.

The lists go on and on while the only thing that should be on my list is bed rest. Yes, I am supposed to be in bed all the time. No, I am not supposed to fudge and sit up all day long. No, really, I am supposed to be in bed, only to get up to pee and eat. Showers are only to be taken every other day and they are supposed to be short ones. No, I’m not kidding. (directed at some odd questions James had to field the other day when running into a friend at Target)

Speaking of friends, our friends Zac and Chrissy came up this past weekend and brought with them 5 boxes of baby clothes! James and I were looking at them last night, still in their boxes, and trying to figure out where we’re going to put them all. With Emma and Abby they had a small dresser when they were babies. I’ve kinda taken over said small dresser with my PJ bottoms and t-shirt collection as it’s easier to get to. There’s no way in hell we’re going to be able to keep clothes for 3 babies in this little dresser. This calls for major garage sale hunting this summer.

Another disjointed post. I wanted to put something up since I haven’t posted anything since my birthday. I have to go chase after Abby now who is making a huge mess of her room that we spent a great deal of time cleaning up last night. Flubbernuggets!