This is birthday week. Remember, this exact day, three years ago? No--you don't? How dare you. just kidding. I was off work, hanging around the house doing odds and ends, preparing to welcome our first baby into the world. Making bassinet covers. Cleaning the nursery (for the zillionth time). Dreaming about what I could have never expected. An entire life change. Thinking that, for the love, will she ever get here?
And now, I'm like. Holy mother. I'm about to have a 3 year old. I remember thinking people with 3 year olds were like, old wise moms by then. I mean, 3 years?!?!? Well ha-ha on me. Because I'm only a tad the wiser. ;) But I guess I am older. And sometimes, I feel really, really old.
Like this week.
We've had a weekend full of sickness. High, scary fevers. Sad, limpy girl who just wants to cuddle and could hardly form a sentence. Sore, burny throat. Lots of smoothies. Lots of Finding Nemo. And two doctors appointments.
But I feel old, homely, and tired. I am that mom who goes out looking like a train wreck to the doctors office, because I just can't even manage to do anything else besides slide up 2 day old jeans (or yoga pants), plop my air dried hair into a gnarly ponytail, and hopefully put on a bra. My fingernails and toenails are in a state of disgust. I'm blaming the fact that I've washed more dishes in the last 5 days than in my entire life (thanks to broken dishwasher)(and only the fingernails part, no I don't wash dishes with my feet, but how cool if I could). My face? Oh, I'm like a 16 year old, all broken out--which hasn't happened in years, not even while pregnant. In fact my skin is amazing when pregnant (take that stupid old wives tales about carrying girls).
Basically, I'm a royal train wreck of a human the last few days.
We're supposed to be ringing in age 3 with a bangin' Hello Kitty party (her choice) this weekend.
She will finally (I hope) be fully recovered and ready to celebrate.
There is rain, rain, rain on the forecast for her outdoor party. I kind of want to cry.
I am contemplating moving her party up a day, pulling a completely last minute up-the-party-date-move solely based on weather. Classy, aren't I?
I just put Lucy to bed with a low grade fever.
Am mildly panicking and praying she isn't getting sick, too.
Am not doing well at not panicking.
Am hoping to God I don't have to cancel the party.
Am hoping not to devastate Emeline.
Am a hot mess, minus the hot part.
Tell me it will be okay.
I just want a happy birthday week for the girl, darn it.
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