Skillzz

     I read something recently that recommended we focus on our blessings instead of our struggles. I thought about this for a while, especially in relation to this blog. I worried I might come off depressing or cynical and maybe a bit miserable. But lets be serious, if all I wrote about was the sappy amazingness of pregnancy you'd click that little red X at the top of the web page, grab a trash can and hurl.... because blogs like that are annoying. And in all honesty the weird things that are happening to me make for the best and funniest stories. So PLEASE, make sure you laugh AT me ..... and if you don't, just keep your opinions to yourself.

     Brady and I have been working on the baby room for a few weeks now. Brady painted the walls, but we noticed we didn't love the ceiling and baseboard colors. We made that this last weekend's project. We bought the paint, prepared the room/materials etc., and I was put in charge of the baseboards.

     I did a tiny section while telling Brady I probably shouldn't do it because I was getting paint on the wall, and in my defense, I think I said that like 10 times. Anyways, like a good husband he kept "encouraging" me (which in my hormonal state is possibly the most horrendously annoying thing in the world). So I moved to another section he said would be easier, started to paint, and what do you know I got paint on the wall.  BOOM here comes the MELT DOWN. I can still hear myself saying stupid things like "I can't even paint a baseboard", "you shouldn't let me do this, I'm just going to ruin it, I can't do it", and the real kicker, "I'm not good at anything, I have no skills, I can't do it". Needless to say, tears starting flowing and I ran out of the room.... seriously, I RAN out of the room.

     No amounts of comfort could console my unbelievably hysterical freak out. Brady intelligently left me to wallow alone. Eventually I pulled myself into a semi- stable seated position and called my mom. I explained the situation in an out of breath sniffle voice and after hearing my ridiculousness decided to make the situation even more ridiculous by crying more and telling my mom that I had absolutely no talent. Yep this girl has no talent, I'm without talent, I do nothing..... (you're probably thinking.... is this chick for real, all of this over a lousy paint brush). But yes, I was in fact "for real", I am that girl, I am that crazy.

     Lets just say my mom calmed me down a bit, she's patient. Later I got a "what the hell is wrong with you" from my dad, which seems significantly more practical. Anyways, my mom just laughed and told me it was all the estrogen. I did not laugh.

     Now however, I am dying. I will forever remember my overreacting George Banks like melt down. Brady admits it was semi terrifying, but strangely loves me just the same. My mom is probably telling people I should be admitted, and I..... well, I will never paint a room again.

     Regardless, I am bizarrely thankful for these absurd emotions that overcome my body. For some reason these memories are the ones I want to share with my little girl. I want her to recognize that life should be taken lightly, that things aren't ever that serious, and that it's good to know when to laugh at yourself. And don't you worry, I am definitely on board with making sure she knows her mom is a total nut case who finds joy in reminiscing over the hard times in life, and admit it, you think it's way more FUN too.

To top it all off, I walked into church on Sunday and a women looked at me and said, " So you needed to buy a bigger skirt huh? ......
ha...