Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Public praise of my lovely boyfriend

Let me just start by saying, I'm not the world's happiest camper. It doesn't take much to tick me off, especially when I'm pregnant. I've been working a lot on this personality trait, actually (although Matt might beg to differ!) but I really do value Matt quite a bit.

Take tonight, for example. He worked all day, as usual, and I was home with Iris. My day went something like this, wake up at 8:40 (on a side note, this is quite a bit later than usual) get Iris ready to go while she throws a tantrum, get to co-op, come home from co-op, take a shower, eat lunch, take a nap (her, not me), get up and go to the grocery store, come home and eat ice cream and other unmentionables, go to the park, meet Matt and many families from co-op for dinner out, come home, I leave to go to yoga and Matt stays home with Iris. Phew! SO-- did you notice that no where in there did I write "wash dishes" or "pick up the living room"? Nope, you sure didn't. Because I didn't. When we got home from dinner, it literally looked like a bomb hit our apartment. There were toys everywhere, dishes, half eaten lunches and half unpacked groceries everywhere, pretty much a gigantic mess. Want to know what the apartment looked like when I came home from yoga? Every toy was picked up. Every dish was done, every grocery was put away-- Matt even arranged the magazines on our coffee table in a fan shape. Pretty good, huh?

Like I said, I get ticked off alot. Heck, just last night I was off my rocker with insanity at the suggestion Matt would be gone an extra day on top of the four day work trip he has coming up. I can't imagine him being gone for a whole night, let alone that many days straight. The thought is already sending shivers down my spine. I mean, my god, what would I possibly do without him? I would be heaping mess of a mama, that's what. No one to share in Iris care, and no one to take over when I'm on the verge of insanity, no one to take the dog out, no one to massage my shoulders, and perhaps most importantly, no one to arrange the magazines all pretty.

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