Hello darlings!
We saw Dr. Supa-Dupa on Monday. The ultrasound suggested that there is a “95% chance Baby will never need treatment” for hip dysplasia. And yet, we still need to get an x-ray in 4-6 months to completely rule it out. So on the fear factor? Yay! Probably no hip problems. On the pain-in-the-ass factor? Boo! Still need to follow through with all the doctor appointments hither and yon.
So that was Monday, Anne, and no offense, but where the hell have you been since then? Glad you asked.
No seriously. Glad.
My mom has been here, and by the third day of her cleaning, cooking, and caring for my children, I managed to drag myself out of bed. A sane woman would have taken a shower, thanked the mom kindly, and offered to help take on some chores. So you know what I did, right?
I thought we had just better have a big assed garden party. LOOK AT ME, WORLD! I AM EFFING CAPS-LOCKED-OUT-OF-CONTROL. HAVE ONE MONTH OLD CHILD AND AM THROWING A PARTY. (And by the way, this is how I worded the invitation to the party, decorated the cake, and had stenciled on the balloons.) Of course, if there was any truth in advertising, it would have all said, “my long suffering mom threw a party and let me get dressed in a cute outfit and take all the credit in front of my friends.” Still? Whooo-hooo! Party!
So 15 adults and 4 kids later, I have gotten those coveted comments from my other mommy friends. You know, when they say, “you are just a Martha Stewart Maven”** and you’re sure they mean A) the worst possible insult at your prissy hor’deurves and B) they are super impressed that you hand placed those fresh blueberries into 30 individual tartlets. (again, read: Anne’s mother stayed up all night hand placing those blueberries.)
Of course, then I had to mess it up by braying like a total jack-ass “Hahaha! Actually? My mother is here, and she did everything. In fact, I just locked her in the basement about 3 minutes before you got here. But thanks for the compliment!” To her credit, I could hear my mother’s muffled voice through the locked door, saying something that sounded suspiciously like, “Oh, it was easy, really! Glad to help!”
So Mom, even though I pray on a daily basis that you never, ever know about this blog, still? Yay! Thank you! And if you happen to be reading this, please don’t ever, ever mention it to me or I will have to totally stick a fork in my eye or something. Kthnx!
**and typing that phrase, I have the sudden epiphany that my friends are not cool either if they say things like that.
My sister came up for the festivities. My thin, pretty, carefree sister (is there any other kind? For me, no). While she was here, she said the following completely-like-her things:
1) “Anne, for every one more kid you have, I decide to have one less.”
and
2) (to my mom): “Come over here and snuggle with me so I can tell you how much I hate my best friend.”
I swear I heard these exact words come out of her mouth.