What am I supposed to do with that?

Crazy came out to play last night. I was trying to keep her deep down inside of me – only exposing Mr. Swirley to a little of her at a time. But last night was her night to shine. And by shine I mean freak out about not having various cremes, salves, detergents, bags and other items that I felt we should already have for baby. I also got upset because he didn’t know how to install a car seat – clearly an intuitive process that he should be able to explain to me without ever doing it.

I then went on a cleaning rampage where I shoved all of Mr. Swirley’s tools back into the closet under the stairs (he had removed them all to organize the space), folded laundry while talking to myself, put away dishes and considered cleaning the baseboards. Then my spine fell out. So I decided to go to bed and asked that the fan be moved into the bedroom because we apparently live on the face of the sun. My. Swirley obliged my request and brought up the fan and put it on the ground. I walked in and instead of realizing that because Mr. Swirley was not the room, he was likely getting an extension cord and feet for the fan – I loudly stated “well, what the hell am I supposed to do with this.” Hello crazy. How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while. Mr. Swirley appeared and quietly put the feet on and plugged in the fan, laid it on a towel on top of the bureau so as not to accidentally damage any of the wood and pulled the covers down on the bed. I begrudgingly got in fully knowing that I am raging lunatic. Lights out.

My cousin reassured me that this type of freak out is normal. I am not sure if that makes it OK or a terrifying truth that we are all wackjobs while prego (or both).

Today I bought some Corona and limes for my better half so he can at least enjoy the quiet times while I am sleeping/cleaning in the basement in a silent rage directed at absolutely no one. Right now he is drinking my near beer and I don’t think it’s doing it for him.

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Wise words? Bring it.