Monday, March 21, 2011

This Is My Apology



I need to apologize for my lack of internet interaction and ability to blog/vlog. I feel like apologizing because I see this space on the internet like my home in the digital world. If friends come to my blog and I don't answer the door it feels rude. At least I could put a sign up that says something like, "I feel like the contents of Will it Blend? Please try back later!"

And look, who am I kidding? I hardly ever answer my door in real life. Close family and friends know to just come in and take their chances on what they might see (and just so your imagination doesn't run away with you, I mean they might see me looking like the ghost of Marley in a muu muu nursing a keg of lemon tinted Perrier) (we're you thinking something more scandalous? shame on you.) (Though yes, that has happened before...)

At least my dear mother, who lives in a hollow in Creve Coeur, Missouri, needs an explanation for my lack of writing lately. When I don't show up here daily I get reprimanded via text, "I didn't see you on your blog today. What is going on?" Only last night she texted to tell me she didn't know how to use her question mark key, so the text went like this, "Are you okay honey! Should I be worried about you! Do you have time to call me!"

The truth is pathetic. If I get just one second--just one nano second--to sit down I fall immediately to sleep. I have Pregnancy-Induced Narcolepsy and if that isn't a medical term it just became one. It's like my body alerts my central nervous system anytime my bottom comes in contact with a surface. "She is stopping movement. Begin shut down in three, two, one..."

And it's not good for the parenting side of things. After putting Ever down for a nap, I promised The Chief I'd watch an episode of one of his "shows" and when I woke up--who knows how much time later--the organization of the playroom was compromised, my lemon tinted Perrier was missing and an infomercial was swearing that My Baby Can Read. I don't want my baby to grow more teeth, much less read. I mean, I still think it's pretty neat she sucks limes without making a squinty face. Yes, around here we're not into growing up fast. Not when mommy had a bra at ten years old...

(I should explain something really quick, along with PIN, I also have a condition called, Pregnancy Rant which is related to another condition I have called Pregnancy-Induced Nasty mood--and so far it seems quite permanent. So I have, PIN, PR and PINm all of which get me in trouble publicly, oftenly and with those whom should be getting my empathy and charity. GO GET YOUR OWN EMPATHY AND CHARITY. Sorry, it's the disease...)

Back to the story at hand, I followed the sound of The Chief's burps to where he was playing Rocket Ship with the now-empty Perrier bottle upstairs. Good on him to take advantage of the situation, but even better for not waking me up when his "show" ended. I opened another bottle and drank to my success, our success. Chief, my boy we're a match.

Oh, and speaking of me having to make public apologies, the story above wasn't even the worst incident in recent record of becoming drowsy at an inappropriate time. Just a few days ago -I can't believe I'm even going to admit this- while attending an important fund-raising meeting, and while joining a table of high-profile "game changers" as they call them, I completely