So it was going to be a relaxing weekend. Yeah. Hmmm. Let me re-cap:
Saturday. Wake up at buttcrack of dawn. Take step-daughter and her jug of pee (from her 24 hour urine catch...and yes, we did strap the bucket o'pee into the backseat of the car) to the neighboring town to drop it off at hospital lab. Lab slip shows bloodwork to be done also. Get to lab. It is closed. Go register at ER. Silently curse step-daughter for not paying more attention to details/instructions. Get blood drawn. Drag extremely pregnant pre-eclamptic whiner through six stores and the mall while waiting to hear bloodwork results. Silently contemplate killing her and giving her boyfriend a medal of honor for putting up with her whining. An example? She whined no less than 11 times (I counted) that there was enormous pressure in her who-ha. Really kid? No shit. When you are 4'11" and you create a baby with a man who is 6'3", there's gonna be a smidge of pressure at the end. Finally hide behind the lingerie racks in Victoria's Secret and manage to lose her, thus freeing myself from whining for at least ten minutes. Finish shopping. Bloodwork results show the beginnings of pre-e and low potassium. She will have to be monitored but yay...no induction. So we head home. On the drive home, silently contemplate killing her when she asks 14 times if she's going to die during childbirth and then has the nerve to state, "You just don't understand what it's like." Um really kid? I've been pregnant six times. Had 8 babies. 3 vaginal unmedicated births. 3 c-sections. Two sets of twins. But yeah, I probably don't understand what pressure and swelling and pregnancy discomforts do to a woman. Hmmm. To be 18 and self-obsessed again. Bet that changes in less than a month when a wee one makes an appearance.
Sunday. Wake up. Return to the neighboring town to exchange the school uniform pants that I got boy #2 because even though they are size 32 32 and even though they were in the men's section, they are, "Girl Pants". Ahem. Stop at the four other stores I was not able to visit yesterday. Drag hubby through craft store, needing nothing, just to see how tortured he looks. (Note to self, DH is not a man because the craft store did not bother him at all and at one point I'm pretty sure I saw him looking at the macrame supplies). Drive home. When almost home, make arrangements to retrieve boy #2 from a friends house. Phone rings. Growl ominously but it does not good....I must go to work. If you're counting, which I am, this is 9 out of the last 10 weekends. EGADS. Finish work. Come home. Plan to walk with my husband. It begins to pour rain. Give boy #3 the video game we found for him. Cook dinner. Get invaded by pregnant step-daughter. Retreat to bathroom to hide and get a phone call from boy #1 in prison (he has been accepted into treatment and has signed up for a rigorous parole option...he sounds like he's beginning to accept that he cannot live his life this way). Decide to blog about my ridiculous life and then take a bubble bath.
Thankfully I get to go back to work tomorrow. I need the rest.