A Patient Man

I’m a lucky girl.  I’m married to a patient man.  My husband and I have recently been talking about how girls are a bit crazy.  Well, he was talking about it and I was politely listening.  Then it hit me – we’re all a little crazy, but we carefully place our crazy in a box and hold it tight to our chests, only letting little bits out now and again.  However, there are times in a girl’s life when she’s extra crazy, and I think that is what is giving the ladies a bad wrap.  For example: pregnancy.  When your pregnant, the baby bump starts crowding out your crazy box, and pretty soon, it’s wide open and all your crazy is spilling out.  No matter how wildly you flail around grasping at it, you won’t catch it so sit back, relax, eat some chocolate and watch the crazy as it swirls around you.  

Lately, my crazy has gotten a little carried away. I was making pot roast the other night and I needed to move it over to make room for the loaf of bread in the oven.  A normal person would use a potholder, but a crazy pregnant woman just grabs the pot with her bare hand.  Uh huh.  I was driving to the doctor’s office behind my husband last week, and we came to a stoplight.  A normal person would stop behind the car in front of her, but a crazy pregnant woman just runs into her husband’s trailer hitch.  Yep – I did it.  I confess to all you people in hopes of finding fellow crazy people to commiserate with.  The best part of the story though – David’s reaction.  Does he yell and scream and demand to see my insurance you-crazy-pregnant-woman-who-shouldn’t-be-allowed-on-the-road!  No, he gives me the international “a-ok” sign in his rearview mirror, continues driving to the doctor’s office and calls me to make sure I’m ok.  Yep, I married a very patient man.

Here is my very low quality iphone self portrait of the baby bump. It’s definitely gotten big enough to break open my crazy box.