We moved last Saturday. I hadn't moved in 8 years, and now I know why. Where did all this shit come from? I've been unpacking for days, and I swear there's more cardboard boxes here than there was loaded in the moving truck. To top it off, the light at the end of the tunnel burnt out for me this morning. Our new house has a 9 x 7 foot den, that hubby suggested I use as my closet. I was finally going to unpack my clothes, after I built all my Ikea furniture. However, after spending 3 hours putting together the Botne wardrobe, I went to stand it up right, and the damn thing fell over, and broke apart. The screws broke the particle board. It is not salvageable. I was pissed and tried. So I just did what I should have done in the first place, I contacted some custom closet installers. I will spend more money, but at least I can put my clothes away.
One of the biggest deals I get from my husband is an hour, or so (sometimes I push it to two hours) every night of me time. This is when I don't have to hold, watch, feed, or basically interact at all with my baby. This time is very important for my mental well being. Usually hubby takes her out for a stroll through the neighborhood, so I get to vegetate on the couch, or in front of the computer. Other times I go out shopping, run errands, or meet up with a friend. Last Thursday, I went out with a friend for dinner. We were paying our bill when a frantic man runs into the restaurant. "IS ANYONE A VETERINARIAN? WE NEED A VETERINARIAN!" The man's friend enters the restaurant wearing nothing but a speedo, and says, while flexing his biceps, "Because these puppies are sick".
I went out for a catch up lunch with two of my mommy buds. One of the mom's and I are still breastfeeding, either because we're wimps, or martyrs, I haven't decided which yet. The bi-product of breastfeeding beyond a year, is that I'm skinny now, and I don't really work out. Of course I'm totally weak, and useless too. I can't open a jar of pickles to save my life. I talked about how even though I can fit into my size 25 jeans, I'm not feeling shit hot. My other non-breastfeeding mommy bud told me to shut the fuck up.
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