I'm not normally a mean person. I would rather die than show any mean-spiritedness to anyone. I hate confrontations and I am a people pleaser. I like to make friends and to be nice at all costs is very important to me. Things get a little tweeked when I'm pregnant. Hormones rage and emotions run high especially when I'm tired or hungry. Sundays seem to bring out that part of me. Our church is mostly full of old people. My husband and I look like total babes compared to the amount of life experience in the building. When we started attending almost a year ago, they took one look at our family and was willing to spoil our children rotten till I was ready to pull my hair out. I kept thinking, "I'M the mother!", but to no avail. Our children are just too much temptation for them and they bombard us with candy, cake, ice cream and stuffed animals galore. All our kids have to do is look up at them with their beautiful eyes and pink cheeks and they are wrapped around their little fingers. I often wonder if they pay attention to what our kids are doing during the service more than the sermon. Since my husband has become a deacon, he has been helping out and I have been the sole parent in the pew. That makes for a very tired and short-tempered mommy after the last hymn. After the service is over, our kids are treated to a feast of junk food or desserts that will give them diabetes before the year is out. My little imp, Aidan, had found a ball to play with and took it with him into the fellowship room. All he had to do was look up at an older lady and ask for a cup of water and she gave it to him. I was unaware of this when I come upon him spilling his drink on the floor. I took it for granted that my husband had given him the drink and said in an irate voice, "Who gave that to him?" Noticing my temper, my husband immediately tried to console the situation by saying, "It's okay, it's okay," all the while wiping up the mess. The lady asked if it was alright if he had a drink and I said sarcastically, "Well, not when there is a BALL in his arms!" She immediately apologized and said she couldn't help but give him what he wanted since he asked so sweetly. I wanted to die. I gulped and said, "Well, he does have that cherubic look to him, too." Me and my big mouth.
They instructed me to make sure I have a full bladder on arriving for my ultrasound. Ha. I almost laughed in their faces. Pregnant me plus a full bladder equals a disaster. On my son's birthday back in March, I had to drive all the kids home afterward. I had drunk a lot of water and couldn't believe I had forgotten what happens to me when I drink too much water with no bathroom nearby when I'm pregnant. I counted the minutes till I got home all the while breaking the law and speeding trying to keep in mind not to drive too recklessly screaming at the poky people in front of me. It brought to mind the very first time I experienced a full bladder as a pregnant woman. It was my first baby and my husband was in the Air Force. So, when we had an ultrasound we went to the Academy in Colorado Springs. They told me to drink an astronomical amount of water before I came. I did so and then we started out for the half hour drive to the hospital. By the time we were on the
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