I Am a Small Clown

This weekend, I was the bearer of bad moods.

(I hope that I used the right bear/bare.)

(If not, I don't care.)

It all started on Friday morning, when Husband and I got into a dumb fight on the way to work. Sometimes an argument can really ruin the whole day, you know? I topped that by descending 27 flights of stairs, for which my calves have still not forgiven me. I, in turn, have not forgiven whoever reported a false fire in my skyscraper.

At least I have now exercised enough for the rest of my pregnancy.

(Success feels great, doesn’t it?)

Basically, the rest of the day was terrible, except for when I died and went to Chicken Madeira Heaven. (Thanks, mom!) She is a girl after my own heart, that one. (In actuality, I am a girl after her heart, since she is the one who birthed and raised me.)

But, forget about that short, curly headed ray of sunshine.

This is a pity party.

On Saturday, I woke up early and it was beautiful outside! However, my insides were FOUL. I was a mean, little lady. Husband tried to help and he did, a little bit. (I am a sucker for massages.)

Then, Husband made me late for a baby shower, then I forgot to buy a gift bag, then I forgot to buy a card, my high heels were squeaking, my calves were screaming obscenities, I lost the gift receipt, I accidentally squeezed the new loaf of bread, I started crying in the car, I screamed bloody murder because it felt good, I worried that I may have caused psychological trauma to my unborn child, then I got lost on the way to the shower, then I had to interrupt the baby shower recipient for directions, then I cried some more, my make-up got messed up, then I realized that I was parked outside of the correct house all along, then I cried a bit more, then I felt like a fat hormonal pregnant woman, then I accidentally matched the baby shower theme (Sailor party), and then I ate two servings (of each) of strawberry spinach salad, cake pops, handfuls of Swedish Fish, and strawberries with dip.

In all honesty, though, I felt a lot better after pigging out.

The crazed lunatic phase naturally followed.

My SIL asked me to pick up some balloons for a birthday/baptism party. I arrived at Party City, grabbed the balloons, and headed out into a (surprise!) windstorm. As I made my way across the parking lot, I wondered which was more likely: Me flying away while holding the balloons or the balloons slipping out of my hands, while I stood there like an idiot.

Thank goodness I was a pregnant midget and not just a normal midget!

Well I stuffed thsoe 30+ balloons into the back of my Mazda 3 during a windstorm, with only my abnormally short legs and arms. 

Only two people laughed at me, only one balloon popped, it only took ten minutes to accomplish, and I didn’t get into a wreck while driving my clown car.

All the while, I laughed hysterically, like the crazed, pregnant lunatic that I was.

Then, I ate a lot more food and sweets, and collapsed into a sugar coma.

(I feel a lot better now.)