P is for psemi-psychotic preggo

Further evidence that I am no longer in control of my emotions:

Yesterday afternoon, I called my mom to update her on a couple of things and got her voicemail. Usually, she either picks up right away or calls me right back (she's almost as nervous about this pregnancy as I am). At 8:00, I still hadn't heard from her, so called her on both her cell phone and land line. No dice. So I tried again about 15 minutes after that. Still nothing. I know she's been working on painting a couple of rooms in her house, so cue visions of mom with a broken neck at the bottom of a ladder. 5 more minutes -- try again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Finally, at about 9:00, I decided to drive the 25 minutes to her house to make sure that she was alive and OK. The whole way, my heart was pounding and I was thinking about all of the grisly ways I might find her when I arrived. I was TOTALLY CONVINCED that my so-called intuition was telling me something was NOT RIGHT.

Turns out she was painting the bathroom with the door closed and the fan on, and couldn't hear the phone(s).

Sigh.

This morning, I started crying while putting on my makeup because I heard on the local news that school was back in session and the traffic might be heavier than usual. Seriously, this is all it takes to set me off?

Goal for today: no more crying. I'll be happy to take bets from anyone who cares to wager.

H is for Hormones

Whoa, boy. I don't know if it's the stress of the remodel, or just the natural order of things, but this weekend my hormones really came out to play.

I have to admit, I was a bit snappish yesterday. I didn't sleep well on Friday night, I was feeling breathless, and worst of all, CONSTIPATED.  So I know I had a few snippy comments for the Mr. during the day, which I know had to suck for him. But then, on the way home from a family party, he lost it back at me a little bit.  And the waterworks started. I tried not to let him see, but I had tears running down my face and snot pouring out my nose all the way home. And then I left him at home and went kersnuffling to the mall to be "alone," where I'm pretty sure I looked like a big fat red-faced freak. And then I got home and went to sleep at 7:30.

The whole time, I couldn't really figure out what was making me cry. I'm not a crier, especially not over something like a little mini-argument. And I'm not unhappy -- in fact, I kept thinking "I'm so happy, why am I crying?" 

I hope this isn't the new me for the next 3.5 months. Because I have to say, she isn't much fun.