Who are these brunch-ing weirdos?
I've been in Florida for about a month now. We're staying with family for a couple months until the baby comes and we find a place of our own. Family is great and I am blessed to have a fantastic one - but my mother is driving me nuts. I don't know if it's the pregnancy hormones or what. I spend half the day wondering if, in fact, your eyes can actually roll back into your head and stay that way. This is something I am actually concerned about of late.
My mom is terrific and I'm pretty sure she doesn't mean to purposefully question every minute parenting choice I make - out loud. But she can't help herself. She also can't seem to stop criticizing me for all the other household choices I make - like the al dente pasta I cooked the other night that she could "barely chew" and would've cooked for "three more minutes." I find it hard to believe a woman who snacks on rock-hard pita chips all day like the company itself is going out-of-business would have a problem chewing pasta. But, okay.
I feed the cat too much, my son never has enough clothes on and I really need to wear slippers. These are all statements that seem totally logical being hurled at a 40-year-old woman (me). I'm pretty sure these tiny little passive-aggressive statements come out of the mouths of every mother - but when you combine them with the fact that I haven't lived in the same state as my family in over a decade - you have a recipe for disaster. Oh, I should also add that I'm eight months pregnant, moody, and my
Mothers are mothers and I'll probably be doing the same thing to my children 30 years from now. But for now - I have to build up my tolerance like you build up callouses when you swing from the monkey bars. I actually just realized how impossible it would be for me to hold the weight of my hugely pregnant body suspended from a monkey bar and now I'm depressed.
I can't believe there's still two more months of this pregnancy left. Good God.
