Blame It On The Rain!

I’ve been debating whether or not to post on this subject, however, after much consideration I figured what good is this blog if I can’t be honest. So here goes…

I know what perfect is to me, but I’m also realizing there are many other definitions out there. So, why does my definition have to seem so… well, perfect and where did it come from!?

I always felt I had to be perfect at everything. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect grades in school, perfect words, etc. I know I’m no where near perfection, but why am I still struggling so hard with this feeling? I thought the older you got, the wiser you got. Apparently there are some issues that linger, like the smell of fish in the fridge you threw out weeks ago – yum!

Ok, maybe not so yum, but how does one get this feeling? Can we blame it on our parents – probably not? Can we blame it on the rain, like Milli-Vanilli? Can we blame it on the media? Who knows… All I do know is that trying to be perfect is painstakingly difficult and wears on the heart and mind.

A very smart therapist once gave me two very good pieces of advice that unfortunately I have not been practicing lately, but that I will never forget –

1) Accomplish a minimum of two things each day and worry about the rest some other day.
2) The 3 ft. rule: don’t stress about the little things that go unnoticed by others even though you know they exist. (example: if your nail polish is chipping, screw it, no one else is going to notice!)

I’m scared to death that I will pass this definition of perfect onto my daughter. I never want her to feel this way, but I’m not sure how to do it.

This is a constant struggle for me each day and I’m trying my best to learn that I don’t have to be perfect. So, I’m asking you all – what do you do? What is your definition of perfect? Do any of you feel this way?

Do you color outside the lines? Do you skip a workout and eat a brownie? Do you call off sick for a mental health day? I want to know!

Don't Rock the Boat!

Hey all! I must apologize for not writing sooner, but life has been busy.

There are two topics I’d like to talk about. Besides my ‘nesting’ phase syndrome, baby took her first vacation this past week… and needless to say it was not quite a vacation for mom and dad.

We went on our first (and last) cruise to the Bahamas. Yes, I got sea sick and it sucks – big time! What a waste of a nice steak dinner! Anyway, the food wasn’t the best I’ve had and the company was less than desirable. Drunk hoes over 40 in 4-inch heels, frat boys, red-neck ‘Bud’ heads, and bone, thugs and harmony were the majority… need I say more.

The funniest part of this trip was my preconceived apprehension to let anyone see me in summer fashion, let alone a bathing suit, however, with all the rest of the nonsense that happened to me while on the trip – my woes paled in comparison. I guess I could consider this a blessing (ah, yikes I hate to say it) in disguise!?

Isn’t it humorous how things find a way of working out? Although, I didn’t have to worry as much about sporting my bikini while prego, I did have to worry about puking my guts out every night and dealing with annoying cruiser misfits – ha!

So what about this nesting phase… I feel as if I’ve been in it my whole life (thanks Mom!). Must be the hormones, but can I tell you that a fuzz ball is annoying as hell to me right now. It’s kind of like when you move… you want to clean and throw out everything that does not have a purpose.

Dear baby girl, in your honor, mommy is organizing the World’s Largest Yard Sale (honey, hide your golf clubs)!

While in the nesting phase, besides trying out for Merry-Maids cleaning services, apparently you also feel the need to have everything set-up and ready to rock – most importantly the nursery.

A few weeks ago I had a panic attack because my husband told me we had plenty of time and there was no need to order furniture for the baby’s room right now. I think I turned into a monster with two-heads spinning while throwing flames and chanting that infamous 3-digit number. Poor hubs looked at me like he was watching some horror / sci-fi flick – sorry babe.

Although my scare tactic did work… we ordered the furniture the following night.

Let me just end by saying “don’t rock the boat (figuratively and literally)!” Husbands and other non-pregos, you may find yourselves in purgatory before you know it. Hugs!