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I Don't Bend Anymore, And Other Broken Functions ...

I Don't Bend Anymore, And Other Broken Functions ...

Tonight has been especially - REAL.

I received an email a little while ago telling me that I "had it all" and that my "life is perfect". I am not overlooking my blessings or that I am a happy person ... But even happy and blessed people (such as myself) are flailing and failing at life.

I had a very simple to-do list for the night that included going to the drugstore for a nail polish treat, painting my nails, cleaning the bathroom, bathing and spray tanning, and also spending some good time chilling with my 7 year old little guy, Jet.

While at said drugstore, I realized that I did not have a dinner plan. So shamefully I admit that I purchased dinner from the same place that I stopped at {specifically} for nail polish. Not winning any wife or Mom awards with that "meal".

We came home to Johnny, who was in his final moments of his dinner break ... I regret to say those 5 minutes were the quality husband moments of this day. He left, and I "cooked dinner". I sat at the table with Jet when Deco, our 100 pound Newfoundland puppy, decided to interrupt. I need to explain that Deco is the alpha male of this house, he is 100 pounds, he had been inside alone for several hours, and I am a barely functioning pregnant adult. So Deco won the stand off - he tugged my sleeves and bit my elbow and my eyes bugged out while he barked my ears off. I can't let him out in our backyard right now because he discovered a baby bunny nest, and I want those bunnies to LIVE ... So my only option for refuge was the kitchen countertop. So that my friends, is where this beast finished her dinner.

Jet occupied himself with books and a harmonica and his iPad while I stayed on the countertop (Deco for the win) and contorted my body in all the ways in an attempt to paint my toenails. Official note: Today, April 24, is the last time this pregnancy that I will attempt to paint my toenails. I no longer have the bend function at my waist.

Once my nails were painted, I got off the countertop. Deco wasted no time and tackled me - literally - to the floor. My right foot was demolished so back to the counter I went. (Graceful is probably the best word that doesn't at all describe the action of me mounting the counter.) It was at this time that I realized that I can no longer breathe. Maybe it was all the contortionism I'd performed during the polishing? All I know is my lungs are not where they should be, or Navy is perched on top of them. Can't breathe.

I hopped down from the counter and very quietly (Deco had fallen asleep) went to the couch to cuddle Jet. We sat together for 30 minutes before it was bedtime. Where did the time go? I don't know either. But 30 minutes is all I got with the kid.

I tucked him in to bed, broken hearted, vowing that I would make more time tomorrow.

I ran a bath, fully acknowledging that there was no way that I was going to clean the bathroom, or contort my body any further by trying to spray tan it. I went to our basement to grab a towel - and when I got to the basement, I cried - full, big, face full of tears - cried. Why? Because Johnny had left laundry on the floor. And he took towels out of the dryer and didn't fold them. Not exactly a husband crime - but for sure another chore that I just didn't have the energy to tackle. So I cried. Because I was too tired to fix the mess. Too tired to deal with Deco. Too tired to clean the bathroom. Too tired to remedy my pale skin. Too tired to appreciate my toenails. Too tired.

I went upstairs and took the bath. I can't  lean back in the bathtub unless a supervising adult is home (because I'll get stuck - I know this from experience) ... So I sat upright, crying, struggling to breathe, with a barking dog in my face. And I decided to tune out because - well because I NEEDED to. So I got on Instagram ... Where I found one friend decorating and finishing her nursery (oh em gee, I'm sharing my bedroom with this baby and we haven't even started the process) and then I saw Cara Loren posting a perfect picture of perfect baby clothes whilst wearing Chanel shoes and it broke me. All the tears in the universe came out. Her reality includes Chanel shoes. Mine includes - well, not Chanel shoes. Or a decorated nursery. Or even a dinner sitting at a table.

And so I quit. I just stopped. I got out of the bath, and I've been lying here horizontal on a pregnancy pillow, gasping for air, trying to depict just how NOT PERFECT my life actually is.

So yeah. My Easter family photo looks cute. We're expecting a baby and that is so exciting. But also - I'm falling apart and life is not perfect, and if you shouldn't judge a book by its cover you REALLY shouldn't judge a family by their Easter photo ...

Only Human

Only Human

Boho? No, no.

Boho? No, no.

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