Monday, June 28, 2010

A little lighter on the heavy please

If you have known me any longer than 4.2 minutes, you know that I can err on the side of serious. My alter-ego is fun, spontaneous, adventurous, footloose and fancy free. The real me, notsomuch. While I long to channel my inner wild woman side, I am a homebody, a play-it-safer, a worrier. My mind is filled daily with  subjects such as war, illness, matters of faith, current tragic events. Don't you want to have lunch with me??  I have written on this topic years ago and clearly still struggle with it. A new career path could be a good start, evidenced by blogs of late, but I don't think that's the answer. I don't want it to be, anyway.

So this weekend was no different. I found myself in a hormone-induced funk, with a capital F. Starting Friday, I knew my heart was becoming more and more raw, more and more unpredictable and I was having less and less control. Miraculously, I was able to send husband out for a night of freedom with his best friend to spare him a night in with crazy wife. Saturday, still feeling the ick-ness, he was smart enough to stay home and babysit. His wife. But still, no major meltdown. In what I'm sure was incited by "How Great Thou Art" at St. Joseph's church, Sunday was THE day. The day for the meltdown. I dropped a couple tears in Mass but didn't let the deluge begin until we got home. The levies broke and my heart exploded into a mess of nothing comprehensible, nothing explainable, just a big bunch of ridiculous hormones (yes I'm blaming the kid). My husband tried. He sat my swimsuit, sunglasses and book on the sofa and tried to prod me to the pool, saying I could continue crying in the pool but needed to get outside. He may or may not have attempted to put swimsuit on my body but I was having none of that. Poor child gave up and began his yard work while I continued my unexplainable, incomprehensible tear fest. Eventually, I mustered the courage to sit on the stoop outside and continue my crying while he sat next to me. I healed pretty quickly in his sweaty arms, bemoaning the feeling of complete loss of control that these baby hormones induce. I apologized for being 'crazy wife' and looked up at him with ugly, crying eyes and pronounced "I think I'm done. I think it's over." Big girl panties pulled up, I started the day. Husband whispers thank you to God.

An hour later, I was loud and proud in my bikini and our across the street friends were at our house. At the great suggestion of a mom of six with a newborn, I indulged in a cocktail, lovingly made by desperate kind husband. As much as I never want to be the girl who can only let loose with liquid assistance, yesterday called for such measures. And everyone noticed. My husband smiled, offering me additional sips of his cocktail. (I will neither confirm nor deny acceptance of them). My friend said "I've missed this Keri the last 10 months." I laughed and played and swam and joked. I was footloose and fancy free. It was the most silly, pure fun I've had in months. It helped that I was around friends that necessitated no posturing at all (as evidenced by aforementioned bikini). Much to my pity for them, they have been privvy to plenty of ugly Ninness moments and still like us (or our pool?) I knew that if hormonal onslaught numero dos needed to hit, I was safe company. The point is, I finally, finally, let go and just chilled. the. heck. out. Thank you Ross. Thank you teeny tiny bit of Jose Cuervo. Thank you Karen and Zach. And Lord, they all thank you!

As Ross and I were putting the finishing touches on what turned out to be a great day at Captain D's (do NOT judge me. It was freaking amazing), I told him I was a little sad that everyone loooved me after a little teeny tiny bit of cocktail in my system. I said I wanted to be the fun girl without needing liquid help. He kind of shrugged. And I shrugged too. What's a 9.5 month, very large pregnant lady to do? I'll take the a dose of light wherever I can get it. We've got the heavy down pat. Not to worry- other than the first, ice cold sip of Ross's Pabst Blue Ribbon here and there, we will have no more cocktails for this babe. We'll just keep on taking doses of light wherever we can grab them!

And since I have no photos ever captured of me like this- the perfect picture of light and happy!


My precious cousin, A, showing me how's it's done!


  1. Too funny! Brad's comment to me on the phone this morning after he asked if I was at my computer, in my pajamas, with the lights dimmed, listening to Sarah McLaughlin or something of the cutting-my-wrists sort was "Betsy, when is the last time you had fun? When is the last time you really just did something silly and laughed and enjoyed yourself?" Of course, I blame it all on pregnancy so I say once these two babes are out and about we do something light sounds like we both need it! Also, muchos props to you - you couldn't pay me enough McDonalds mcflurries or chips and queso to EVER show my pregnant body in a bikini. I like you more after reading that.....a pregnant lady in a bikini is light!

  2. I can remember when I was about 9 months pregnant and had been priding myself in the fact that I had remained rather unemotional throughout the entire pregnancy. On that night Matt was telling me about his day at work and jokingly said something to the effect of "I'm sure they wanted to fire me." For some reason, that was enough to send me over the edge and I cried for 3+ hours... blubbering on about how we were going to end up living under a bridge somewhere if he ever lost his job. We can laugh about it now, but I'm pretty sure he went to sleep that night wondering how he could ship me off for the rest of the pregnancy! :) Can't wait to hear about Baby Ninness' arrival so soon... you'll be a great mom!

  3. No worries about lightening your load - all it's going to take is that sweet precious baby and you will be happy forever. No Jose necessary! Just some baby smiles and giggles, and maybe a nap or two on your chest :) I am happier than I have ever been in my life and I think I have had one drink in 8 months.