Two Days, Two Massive Mama Meltdowns

There have been two major meltdowns over the last two days. And I wish I could say I'm talking about Miss Paige. But I can't. It was me. Two seemingly small and inconsequential happenings managed to push this mama over the edge. There was screaming. There was fury. There were tears. So what were these most devastating circumstances? Well - one involved pasta, and the other involved poop. Pasta and poop brought this mama to the edge of sanity. 

Incident 1: The Case of the Missing Pasta
Yesterday I decided Paige and I needed to bust out of the house. These outings usually involve shopping and impulse buys. I knew my bank account couldn't handle the hit this month, so I decided we would drive around town and get a bite to eat for lunch. All was good in the world. Paige and I were singing the classics (you know... Row, Row, Row Your Boat, If You're Happy And You Know It, and our all time favorite - There's a Hole on the Bottom of the Sea) as we drove around aimlessly. Finally I decided we would go to lunch at a place called FIGO. Not sure if it is a national chain, but there are a few of them around the Atlanta area. It's one of those places where you stand in line, order, then sit down and wait for them to bring over your food. A step above Fast Food,  a step below Sit-Down Restaurant. So we ordered our pasta, sat down, and waited. And waited. And waited. I was busy keeping Paige occupied so I didn't really realize how long it had been. Usually these places take no more than 5-10 minutes to bring out your food. After looking around, I realized that people who came in after us not only had already been served, but were leaving because they were already finished! I flagged over a server and asked her if our food would be out soon - still calm and collected, even as Paige's patience was beginning to run thin. And that's when it happened... I saw the server approach the cook (it's one of those "open dining" situations where you can clearly see into the kitchen), and then saw him pull a dish of pasta up from UNDER THE COUNTER and hand it to her. And you all know exactly what I mean when I say "under the counter"... like it had been ready a long time ago, no server took it, so they pulled it from the serving rack and pushed it off to the side. As she began to carry this plate towards our table, I literally lost my mind. Forget the 30 or so other people dining. Forget the fact that it was an honest mistake. Forget the fact that I had a 17 month old with me, and happened to be 35 weeks prego. My mind was long gone at this point and I was on the verge of meltdown. I jumped up with the speed of a cheetah, grabbed Paige, her sippy cup and my purse in one fowl swoop and with a louder than necessary voice, I said, "Are you kidding me? You are going to feed a pregnant woman and her child food that has been sitting there for 45 minutes or more?!" The server - who was probably around 17 - looked at me with fear in her eyes. And then the kicker... "This place is disgusting! You are disgusting! This is the worst experience OF MY LIFE!!!" : ) Did I ever tell you all that I have a flare for the dramatic? However, I wasn't done with my rampage just yet. I marched up to the counter... past the line of customers waiting to order... and demanded a refund. Of course they obliged (probably with one hand on the phone to dial security) and refunded my $13.76. Still fuming, I turned around to leave and heard the manager say, "We're really sorry about this. I'm not sure how it happened..." to which I responded, "You should be sorry! Making a child and pregnant woman wait for an hour... You should be ashamed of yourselves. I will NEVER BE BACK AGAIN!" And off I went. By the time we got to the car I was in tears. In tears over pasta. Paige was kissing my cheek and giving me hugs - even she knew I was in the middle of a meltdown and figured she should keep a low profile. We ended up getting Wendy's at the drive thru, went home to eat, and took naps. The second half of the day was much less eventful : )

Incident 2: A Poopy Puppy
Starting about 2 weeks ago, I've been going to the OB twice a week for monitoring. On Tuesdays I go to the regular OB for the NST (Non-Stress Test) where they hook me up to the monitors to track the baby's heartbeat and whether or not I'm having contractions. On Fridays I go to the Maternal-Fetal Specialists for a BPP (Bio-Physical Profile) where they do an ultrasound and evaluate. So far, these appointments have been going well. But today, the appointment took longer than normal because Lil D wasn't cooperating. On the NST, they look for the baby's heartbeat to "accelerate" at least 4 or 5 times in 20 minutes. Lil D was kicking around, but there wasn't much of an acceleration. The same thing used to happen with Miss Paige on these tests. So 60 minutes in, they decide I need to guzzle some apple juice and eat peanut butter crackers to try and get him moving more. I knew nothing was wrong with him, and tried to explain that I just have very chill babies. Obviously, that wasn't going to fly with them, so I sat for a while longer until Lil D FINALLY gave them the acceleration they needed to set me free. When I got home, I was already feeling a little upset because I knew Daniel was having to wait for me to get home before he could leave for work. As I walked in the door, I was greeted by Lenni Lulu. And her stench. And as I reached down to pet her, I saw it... Poop. Lots of poop. Mixed with mud. All over her. I started to gag and called for Daniel. He told me that she had run away into the woods when he let her out that morning, and went right into her kennel as punishment when she came back home. He had just let her out when he heard me pull in. Obviously, he hadn't taken a good look at her (which is understandable given the fact he was watching/changing/feeding Paige). And at this point, surprisingly, I was still somewhat calm. Daniel carried Lenni up to the bathtub and I began to scrub her down. And that's when I lost it. The smell of poop, combined with my stressful morning just set me off. I started screaming. And crying. And pounding on the side of the tub. It was a full on prego tantrum. Daniel hopped out of the shower to try and comfort me, but one look at the pittifulness and he knew I was a lost cause at the moment. Luckily, Paige went down for a nap and I had a few moments to myself to relax and recover with my S'More Pop Tarts and an episode of The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Nothing heals a prego soul like chocolate and crazy. Daniel texted me around noon with this message: "All clear on the Western front? Love you!" He is obviously used to the hormones.

So I think my family is bracing for Day 3. But I'm determined to not lose my mind three days in a row. I let you know if I'm successful... : )