Instead of a real blog entry, I bring you something even better

I have a backlog of approximately one bazillion posts in my head. I haven't decided if I'm actually going to write all of them or not (probably not -- some of them are the reason I need to have a paper journal, too), but I've spent the last little while trying to process all sorts of junk in my head, none of which would be the greatest thing to write here. Don't worry, everyone's healthy and life is good and everything, but, you know, sometimes we've all experienced our brain jumping on a hamster wheel in the middle of the night after downing too much coffee and food and feeling kind of queasy but totally unable to stop the psychotic racing, right?

...Nevermind.

Anyway, while I work some things out, I thought I'd make an appearance here to introduce you to my new BFF. Her name is Allie. Okay, Allie doesn't actually know I exist, although I feel a certain kinship with her because she lives in Montana and hey! I used to live in Montana. I discovered her blog this week via a friend on Facebook, and her blog literally saved my life on Wednesday night. Because Wednesday was the equivalent of the universe eating a giant chicken burrito from Chipotle and then violently vomiting the entire thing all over my sweet little existence. (I chose this lovely metaphor for a very specific reason: I could not not eat giant burritos from Chipotle for my entire pregnancy due to an unfortunate pregnancy craving last May. Let me tell you, all that rice and beans and chicken -- well, the texture is REALLY UNPLEASANT the second time you have to see it in twenty minutes. Oh, also, I want you all to know that my mother just read this and said, "Oh, for Pete's sake." I could hear it from two states away. Anyway, what I'm saying is that Wednesday was just really horrible, much like burrito vomit.)

I won't go into too much detail, but basically it was just that I had almost NO sleep on Tuesday night, and Suzannah was in the worst mood OF HER ENTIRE LIFE the next day, and all of that plus the psychotic brain on a hamster wheel added up to lots of crying and wishing it were okay to drink gin-and-tonics all day long.

Matt came home and decided to give Suzannah a bath, and that turned into ninety minutes of negotiations and then finally just screaming, so I sequestered myself in the study with a baby who really needed to sleep as it was the only place in the house that was remotely protected from the deafening noise of an hysterical three-year-old.

So I nursed Isaac to sleep on my lap, and I found Allie's blog of indescribable AWESOMENESS. I spent the next hour reading it and exercising all of my restraint so I wouldn't HOWL with laughter. I restrained myself so well my stomach ached and I had tears rolling down my face, but they were not the same tears that had been rolling down my face for most of the day. I couldn't shriek happily out loud, but Kyanne was online and I frantically sent her the link and we read entries together and did a lot of "OMG READ THIS ONE LOL" for awhile.

Later, Matt stuck his head in the door. He looked shell-shocked. Instead of saying, "SEE, I wasn't exaggerating, WAS I?" I said, "Matt! You have to read this blog! It is the funniest thing I have ever read IN MY LIFE." (This may or may not be true, but I was given to extremes that evening. Yeah, blah blah blah, I know how out of character that is.) Matt gave me a wavery, polite little smile, but I could tell he was still not really okay after the whole bathtime ordeal. I gave him a few minutes to decompress, and then we had the following conversation:

Me: This blog is why you still have a wife. I'm going to tell everyone to read it, even if she does use the word f*ck every now and then.

Matt: Wow, you'll scandalize my parents.

Me: I don't know, I used the word shit in my blog not very long ago and BOTH of our mothers actually admitted to laughing at it. You were worried about that, too.

Matt: Okay.

Me: I mean, you want to see me scandalize my parents, I'll just end it with a picture of the tattoo I'm going to get.

Matt: Mm-hmm.

Me: I mean, I'll never even get to go home again.

Matt: Oh, Baby, that's not even true.

Me: ...Are you even listening to me? Because I was thinking about how Suzannah hasn't pooped in, like, two days. It all makes sense now. Remember when I was pregnant and didn't poop for like two months? I get it. It's not the greatest feeling and I'm sure it didn't contribute to my acting like a human being, so I suddenly understand why she was being so psychotic today. Hey. Am I allowed to write about poop on my blog?

Matt: *swivels around very suddenly, looking horrified* NO.

Me: *smile*

Matt: NO. Start a new blog somewhere else if you have to write about poop. I DO NOT WANT TO HAVE THIS CONVERSATION WITH MY MOTHER.

Me: *bigger smile (because I am apparently twelve)*

Matt: WOMAN, PLEASE. Let's not do this.

Me: Hee hee hee.

Matt: I hope you're pleased with yourself. Dude. NO. Just -- no. No, no, no.

Me: You saw a whole person come out of my vagina, and you can't handle me writing the word poop on my blog?*

Matt: That's right.

Me: Wait. So, vagina is fine, but poop isn't? I can write vagina but not poop?

Matt: Yeah. It's just -- someone is going to say, "Oh, your wife said 'poop' on her blog."

Me: So?

Matt: I really hope this is making you feel better. Wait. Are you writing down this whole conversation?!

(There is a prize for the person who correctly guesses how many times my mother just said, "Oh, for Pete's sake" there. She's also the person who is claiming she doesn't actually know whose blog this is, because it's not her daughter's -- it's just some random, completely inappropriate blog she stumbled across online. She raised her daughter to be much more ladylike. Please don't hold her responsible for my actions.)

Anyway, I'll leave you with a few of my favorites, the ones that made me laugh and laugh at the end of a completely horrific day:

"Boyfriend Doesn't Have Ebola. Probably." A better pain-rating scale. (I nearly peed myself laughing at this one. This is also the first one I read.)

"How a Fish Almost Destroyed My Childhood." I think my dad would particularly appreciate this one.

"Spiders Are Scary. It's Okay to be Afraid of Them." This one is for my brother. A couple of years ago when he lived with us for a little while, he was out in the garage with his friend Steve one night and they were, I don't know, dismantling his truck or otherwise doing Serious Man Things With Tools. Suddenly he stuck his head inside and yelled, "Sis! You have to come see this spider! It is the SIZE OF MY FACE!" And then I checked into a hotel for the night. It's also for my friend Carmen, whose fear of spiders might even exceed my own.

If you don't laugh at these, I will think you are secretly a robot. Anyway, if you're having a burrito vomit day, I hope my new friend Allie cheers you up at the end of it.

--
*Yes, I'm aware that I've already written about poop on this blog, probably too many times, but it's always been about the baby's poop, and somehow that's different. Matt thinks anything else is sharing way too much. Which it is, but that's what I DO, so love me or leave me, is what I say.