Breaking Back

I just sent out a questionable email to all the mom's involved in my mom's group that involved the words "light porn".  Most of them don't know me, so I'm sure that'll go over well.

In other news, I've made great strides in maturing now that I'm going to be a mother of two!

*clonka;lskdjrfopiasdjfoi*

Sorry.  That was my head hitting the desk as I fainted to the floor.  Mother of two?!  Shut the fuck door.

You might as well tell me I'm in my mid-thirties now.

*splatlake';kdsahjoie*

Mid-thirties.  Try just barely grazing three decades.  Like, yeah, I'm here, but I just have my toes dipped in, ok.  I'm like wading in the shallow end or the tri's.  Good thing I have the body of a just barely thirty year old, and the mind of a twelve year old.  Boy. Or I'd be real sad right about now.

Don't be sad, I'm too cute.

Well, by body of a thirty year old I mean ninety.  I threw my back out this weekend and could not stand up straight.  Like could not even if you paid me too.  I always thought people with back problems were big babies, turns out - I owe a lot of people a lot of apologies. And possibly some small children.  My friend who wore a neck brace though on the first day of eighth grade? She does not get an apology.  She was clearly just trying to get attention, I don't care how hard that car hit her.

The good news is I can take muscle relaxers!  The bad news, I can't take them because I'm too scared to.  In High School I secretly wished I was cool enough to have a drug problem, but I was too afraid I'd be the girl who tried uppers and then died in gym class from skipping rope too hard.  There's no use trying to start a drug habit if you're just gonna die a week later.  That so wouldn't be worth it.

I couldn't even take the Vicodin they gave me after I had my wisdom teeth pulled because I was afraid I'd become addicted and start snorting it and then I'd never be able to score over a 900 on my SATs I had to take the next week, even though the idea of being a drug-addled teen was exciting in a I-could-go-on-Oprah-and-tell-my-story-to-the-world-about-how-I-recovered-with-the-help-of-Jesus-and-smokes-because-people-in-rehab-are-always-smoking-and-what-is-that-about-I-mean-it's-rehab-people!-smoking-kills-more-people-a-year-than-anything-else-or-maybe-that's-heart-disease-but-I'll-bet-Oprah-could-clear-it-up-during-our-interview sort of a way, I just couldn't do it.  That, and Vicodin makes me puke.  Good thing I didn't really know about wine back then or I probably would have been pregnant waaaaaay earlier than my 30s.

But then I wouldn't have this little chubby chub!

(Addie's reorganizing and I'm apparently taking a kneeling nap)

On an unrelated note it's Christmas-y here!  Yay!  

Anyway, my Mom is gonna be really proud about this post.  And I don't say that facetiously.  I say it because she knew I had a wanderlust for wishing I was a little darker than I actually ever had the guts or (lackof)brains to be, and she steered me clear of all that daydreaming and right into the proud woman I am today. Thanks Mom.  I could have been on Oprah.

Some kids dream of being an astronaut and some kids dream of being in rehab.  Don't judge.  I turned out just fine and I'm pretty sure some of the astronaut kids are in jail right now.  I've never even had a cavity.