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!