proof

Me and the biscuit decided to go for a walk this afternoon (read: the biscuit decided to take a one hour nap where he usually goes for 2.5 hours so we needed a peaceful activity) and I have noticed that my black, stretchy, cotton maternity pants have been falling off me so I thought I should change.  And by falling off me I mean when I went to grab the kid out of the crib yesterday they fell to my ankles.  With a trepidatious heart I went to my "workout attire" drawer (if you remember, the last time I put on work out clothes it ended in tears) and picked out a pair of black workout pants.  And they fit--er, more snugly than usual--but I could wear them comfortably.  I have not been able to wear these pants since I was 5 months pregnant.  8 months ago.  I was so excited and pleased I grabbed a pair of my regular jeans off the shelf and pulled those on.  Yeah, not quite yet. Those bad boys didn't really get up over my thighs so well, not without some bacon grease at least.  But that's ok.  I am making progress.

By the way, both the cat and baby were watching me from the bed and both reacted to my squeal of delight at the first pair of pants and my "ooohhhhhhhh. ok." sigh when the jeans didn't fit.  And then I spoke to both of them like they were supportive friends I brought with me to the mall.  "I know, I know.  But come on, its been eight months since I wore the black ones, it wasn't outrageous for me to think that my jeans might sort of fit....Ok it was, don't be so judgmental.  I AM going to get back into my regular clothes soon.  You just wait."  At this point the cat began to clean herself and the biscuit spit up, reminding me that once again, I am the only one with language skills in the house.  I used to think my mom was crazy of her own accord.  I now know that motherhood greatly enhances any latent craziness.

Seriously, when did everything become so dangerous?  A storm that brings 20 inches of snow? I could hardly sleep because I thought one of our trees was going to crash through the baby's room.  Norm riding his bike to work? I have to tell myself to wait till lunch to call and make sure he's alive and not be a nutter and tell him to text me when he gets there.  I feel like wrapping my kid in bubble wrap a la Joey Tribbani at all times.  I have never been a person who lives with anxiety and fear.  Norm and I would be apart for weeks at a time, both doing an extremely dangerous job, not speaking for days, and I never thought twice about him getting hurt.  Now every time he gets in the car to grab something from the grocery store I have a mini-attack.  And my sister's kids, whom I love and miss when I don't see them very often, now seem like walking malicious petri dishes because they haven't been vaccinated.  If they even sniffle in my house I have the urge to lock them in my garage and clorox the house.  Hopefully this subsides or my children's memory of their childhood will involve mommy doing a lot of bong rips.