I'm Such a Liar

So there is one mother at school who has never seemed very interested in talking to me. Perhaps it's because I scare her with my wit and engaging personality. All right, maybe it's more like she just doesn't like me.

She has two children who are about the same age as The Princess and Bubba-Love and a baby who was born last spring. For some strange reason, when ever she does decide to talk to me, it's to tell me how incredible her kids are. She was proud as punch to tell me and a few other moms, how her 10 month old was wearing size 18 months and ready to take driving lessons.

I get a little nervous when she does get into conversation with me because I have this suspicion that the conversation isn't just chit chat, it's checking the score card. She hadn't spoken to me much this fall until she overheard that we were expecting Whoopsie and now, everyday, I'm faced with the same questions. "Are you tired?" "How will you be able to cope?" "My goodness, how big have you gotten?" Of course, she seems to time these questions as I'm run-waddling to catch up with Bubba-Love, yelling at him not to splash in puddles or trying to stop Mini-Husband and The Princess from having it out over a piece of bread right in front of the boulangerie

I'm finally reaching the end up my nice rope. Let's face it, I'm 31 weeks pregnant and turning into the psycho that the third trimester promises every single pregnant woman. I try and smile and tell this mother that everything is just fine, I'm fine, things are fine. It's going to be fine. NO, I'm not TIRED. I'm FINE.

But the truth is, I am tired. And I am scared about how I am going to deal with Whoopsie as well. And I'm even more frightened that my really snarky dark side will take over my soul for good.

I've been trying to beat it back, but I just can't seem to help myself lately. For example, the other day when the mother was going on about how impressive her 2.5 year old's language was, how he could say so many words, and talk to everyone, I looked at her, smiled, and said, "Yes! It's the same with Bubba-Love. He's doing that in English and French." She smiled back, but I'm sure we aren't getting invited over for a playdate anytime soon.

Ah, the snarky, bitchy joys of exhaustion and the inability to bend over.

9 weeks.

9 weeks! And then the next round of sleep deprivation and fun starts!

YIKES.