I'm running away....

Or writing a bill to congress...

I haven't decided yet.





I took Maddox to mom's at 7:00 this morning and headed to work, just like every other Saturday of my life.
The difference: Maddox didn't cry when I left him or give me a sob story about how bad he was going to miss me.
He just sat in front of the tv and ate his banana.

Today started out a good day.

Work was easy.
I worked with my BFF like always.
And we were slow.
I had a date planned in Fort Worth around noon with Maddox and my mom.
Gigi was buying Beckham his bassinet!!
I tell you, this had the makings of a fantastic day.

Unfortunately, Maddox didn't get the memo.

He never went back to sleep at mom's this morning... but he did nap on his ride in.
The nap wasn't enough.

Today, he decided he could only talk in one word, whiny sentences.
(Like Max, from Max and Ruby.)
My kid doesn't talk in one-word-anything.
He never stops talking.
:::::::I mean, tonight he told Lance and I that we were all astronauts and he was going to Saturn, I was going to Jupiter and Lance was going to "Erf"!::::::::
But today while trying to enjoy an afternoon of leisure, with 8 million other shoppers around, he could only say things like, "Drink. Drink. Drink." or "Toy? Toy? Toy?" 
(be sure to read that in the whiniest voice possible)
It was torturous.

He also decided today that he didn't want to ride in the buggy...
He would ask for a hug, and then cling to your neck like Velcro-- trying to hitch a ride to the floor so he could take off.
Tired of fighting, I let him walk.
Or better yet, run.
Away from me.

Today was suppose to be a good day.

We had lunch at the Olive Garden, and he was able to hold it together for the most part.
It started off rocky when he couldn't make to coaster light up and decided to, once again, cry.
And it ended rocky, when mom broke a mint in half to share with him and he thought he deserved the whole thing...
But the in between-- the bulk of the meal-- was enjoyable.

The mall, on the other hand, not so much.

I thought we had rounded a corner since he and I laughed the entire ride there.
He was asking me if the car beside us pooped-- and then laughing hysterically at the idea.
He made me giggle again, as we passed McDonalds and he said, "Hey, there's that restaurant with the yellow M" (we obviously rarely eat fast food since he didn't know that restaurant is only the most famous kid-place ever created) but he spotted the mall from the highway and excitedly yelled, "We're at the mall!!!"
(He's definitely my kid!)

The corner was not rounded.

Seconds into pulling into the parking lot, I realized we were still going to be a whine-bucket.
Maddox was pleading his case to walk, rather than ride in his stroller.
I bribed him into his stroller with a dum-dum.
That sucker lasted about 5 minutes and he was whining again.

30 minutes into our trip and I was done.
I am sure people were looking at me like, "Oh good grief.  And she's about to have another one?!"
Because as whiny and annoying as he was today... I was equally impatient and  frustrated.

I finally told him that if he could shut his mouth and not cry and not whine and not beg and be good for 4-frigg'n- minutes, then I would take him to the play area as a reward.

I went back on my word.

But so did he.

The play area looked like free day at 6Flags.
Kids as big as me jumping off crap, screaming, passing MRSA between each other, looking to break someone's collar bone.
We weren't playing there.

And you guessed it:  Maddox cried.

I have little (and closer to no) patience for Whiny-Winston.
My mom pointed out that I make it worse by flipping out on him...
But Oh. Em. Gee.
Words can not describe the alien I had as a shopping partner today.

We got Beckham's diaper bag embroidered and I got him and Maddox a matching outfit for the hospital and I was ready to go.
Home.
Or far, far away...
I wasn't sure yet.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, I called Lance.
I told him every detail of my day with the turd sitting behind me and how my feet were killing me and I was tired and ready to be home.
I remembered however, that I plan on washing and putting away the baby clothes tomorrow so I had to run in Target for baby-detergent.
Lance assured me that Maddox would be better in there, and he'd see me in a minute.

Lance was wrong.
I know the details are boring so here's the Cliff notes:
>>more whining.
>>more one word sentences.
>>more not minding.
>>more crying.

Lance was so wrong in fact, that I lost tract of Holly.
Holly gets very embarrassed when her kid doesn't act like he is trained to act in public.
Holly makes Maddox apologize to others if  it is warranted.
Holly likes to hear yes ma'am when her baby boy talks to strangers.
Holly is not afraid to discipline in public.
Holly worries way too much what other people think.

Holly was over caring at this point.

By the time I crawled to the register-- I think my hair was probably wired and my pupils were unequal and dilated.
I handed the cashier 5 separate things that I didn't intent to pay for and still can not explain how they ended in my basket.
I use 'basket' loosely, because I randomly picked up a basket that was for sale to use to carry my goods and then told her that I didn't need it either.
(I take my shopping carts back people, I am not a careless shopper.  Holly had checked out.)
The 5th item I had to hand over and confess that we weren't buying was a piece to a vacuum.
Like the sick thing that you suck between the couch cushions with.
She, in a confused voice, said, "did this come off of a vacuum?"
I, very casually and un-embarrassed-like, said, "looks like it."
(if you read between the lines, you would have heard, "Do I give a dang about your Hoover?")

I didn't even make Maddox apologize.

He was asleep before we got back onto the highway, and me and Taylor Swift rocked it out on the way home.
I was able to exhale.

He woke up when I got him out of the car but his mood seemed better.
I was relieved to be home and headed to the potty because that's what I do as much as I breathe these days.
On my bathroom floor, I found my painting of Coy fish along with the shattered glass from its frame, everywhere.

[This is the part where my bill comes in.]

Lance looked at it with me, confused also, but then went and had a seat in the recliner.

I stomped my fat, tired butt into the kitchen to get the broom and dust pan to hear him call out-- "Don't worry about that babe... I'll get it in a little bit."

A little bit?
Like right after Maddox slices his 3rd toe off?
Or right after I already swept, and then crawled my fat, swollen ass along the baseboards- got a shard of glass in my foot and then dug it out like a gymnast?
It's cool babe. I've got it.

I decided, at that point-- that I was going to lock myself in that bathroom and soak in a bath too hot for pregnant bodies.
Alone.
Without Maddox.
Fan on.
Door locked.
My friend Amanda in my ear.

In 2 Years 7 Months 3 Weeks and 3 Days, I have gotten one other bath alone.
One.
I remember it well.

Apparently that was my limit in life.
I did not deserve this one tonight.

For 45 minutes, Maddox stood at the door, knocking and crying and asking why I wanted to lock the door and if I knew how sad it made him.
Lance didn't make him get away, but instead joined him by telling me that Maddox needed in to go poop and I needed to unlock the door.

No.
I reminded him that we had another bathroom and I was not going to unlock the door.
This was my time.

So Maddox crapped himself.
Like. A. Brat.

Lance was griping something that I couldn't hear over my blaring fan but I just submerged my head under water so that in just in case any of it became legible to my ears, I could ignore it.

And that's when I pretended to write a bill.

I had already spent the majority of my day irritated at Maddox.
Now it's Lance's turn to be on my bad side.

In my bill, men are to be issued a 25-30lb backpack at their wife's 32 week appointment.
The back pack must be worn 24 hours a day.
Cheerfully.
It must be kept on to bathe, to sleep, to clean, to cook, to work and to carry- rock- nurture- and chase reckless 2 year olds. 
Randomly, the backpack will shock them-- preferably when they are almost asleep and will occasionally cause them to pee on their self or vomit without any warning and in the worst settings.
The backpack will randomly cause his right hip to lock up just for kicks.
The man will be forced to drink 2 gallons of water before bed time so that he can match his wife's now new record of 6 pees in one night.
The backpack will do some sweet things too-- just to be fair-- but mostly just make life slightly more difficult for the man.
The man is not allowed to complain about this, he is to enjoy it completely, for it is a beautiful back pack.
A back pack he wanted.  One he loves and adores.
The man will not get his feet rubbed or any special treatment during this time--
And will randomly be told that his backpack is huge and tiny all in the same day by old people and random strangers.  (Both with negative connotations, of course, so that he feels like he can't win for losing.)
And then the man can not take it off  or see the contents of the backpack until he has been jabbed in the back with a 4" needle and then prodded in his inappropriate places.

And that is Holly's bill.
Please write to congressman so that it can be passed.  :)

I am going to bed.
And hoping for a brighter day tomorrow.
Thanks for humoring me by reading!
:)

Disclosure:

I love being pregnant and adore this unborn baby.

I love my husband, who is typically very helpful.

I love, more than words can describe, my precious baby boy.

I did not, however, love today... and  that's okay.

You win some, you lose some.

I needed to vent.