Yesterday morning I woke up to a delightful breakfast of yogurt and apples, lovingly prepared at 6:00 a.m. by my darling children. For my birthday. Which was not yesterday.
Life: Vacation bible school, phone calls from doctors and clinics, and ball games, and team pictures, and roof repairs and window sealing, foot icing and headaches and crashing into bed before anything else can go wrong. Birthday cake? Might put me in a sugar coma, so I let Caleb off the hook for forgetting.
I still felt like Rasberry Tart, though, and if you can’t understand that reference, well…then you’re not as weird as I am. Congratulations. Go climb a tree and fall out.
Today birds are chirping, and jack rabbits the size of large dogs have made personal appearances in my yard. I can’t have cherry poptarts, like, at all today, but I’m going to be okay, because–yay–I also can’t have cherry coke.
I had another ultrasound and doctor’s appointment during which everything looked awesome. Our daughter is in the 60th percentile as far as size for 28 weeks–so much for the freakishly huge behemoth baby they were worried about me growing and grooming for world domination. Everything about her thus far is perfectly normal.
I celebrated by having a small black coffee.
Honestly people, I’m having some serious sugar withdrawls. It’s an absolute drug and I am a full-blown addict. This is worse than that time I voluntarily got healthy–mainly because I’m under doctor’s orders and it’s taking everything I have not to shove my face in a jar of Nutella with a rebel yell. My best friend is encouraging, but she’s also paleo and junk, and I wonder sometimes if those type of people can really be trusted. What the heck can her motives possibly be? It’s almost like she wants me to feel my best and have a healthy baby or something.
And now I’m going to wrangle babies at VBS. It’s soothing and I probably won’t even think about the sugar balls and choco chums I’m not snacking on.
And if you don’t understand that reference, then we just cannot be friends.