Rejected Reality.

I had a super sucky day.

Took Gage to school.
Ran to the cleaners to drop off Hubby's clothes.
Went to the grocery store to knock out grocery shopping before my feet got too swollen.
Had Braxton Hicks contractions all through the store....heck, I had them all through the night and the evening before, likely from dehydration b/c my ketones were up again. I was trying to drink a lot of water!

....anyway.
Got home.
Bag ripped.
This happened:

By that point, all I wanted to do was sit down and start drinking my Gatorade.
I snapped the above pic, and emailed my mom: "If you need me, I'll be sitting on my a$$ somewhere in my house, pretending this didn't just happen."

I headed to the living room, absolutely putting off the task of cleaning the spaghetti sauce off the floor, and plopped down on the couch.
...and then I felt something cold and wet on my neck and in my hair. What in the woooorld????
OH GAG!
The dog freaking puked on the couch cushion and I didn't pay attention in my pity-party state, and I plopped down in it!
Yeah...I'm not going to post the picture here....
I emailed it to my mom and told her that I REJECT THIS REALITY. 

The realization that my suburban princess life was actually quite disgusting and not nearly as glamorous as it seemed....well, that was just getting the best of me.

Suburban princess? Me?
Somebody's got to do it....

Sadly these days, I'm realizing that 'polishing my tiara' is more like scrubbing grout on your hands and knees at a million months pregnant, and scrubbing dog vomit off the couch.

{"Hello, Vodka? It's Mommy calling...."....It's just a matter of time. It's just a matter of time...}