Stepford, This is Not

It occurred to me this evening that I am not, in fact, a superhuman. That was disappointing, but I moved on.

For the past week I've been a royal bitch. Like a "they forgot I don't eat brown M&M's, and it says it right in my rider" diva kind of bitch. For example, Michael came home from work one night and apparently was looking for me to be civil to him. Instead when I started telling a story and he walked into the other room to take his coat off, I decided I wouldn't talk to him for the rest of the night.

Because...well, I actually didn't have a reason other than HE.SO.DESERVED.THAT. after the way he treated me.

On Tuesday he had to work late which set me off because I thought I might cook dinner even though I haven't in about 7 months and 15 days and even though there was nothing in the house to actually cook, he managed to ruin dinner. A dinner that didn't exist.

And yesterday he was breathing. Obnoxious.

I think it's safe to say, adjusting back to my pre-pregnancy hormone levels has been a little more difficult than I would have liked and I'm really glad I'm back to plain ol' super strength birth control pills come Sunday. We need some hormone control up in this house.

However, when Michael came home tonight I was in a stellar mood. No, an actual good mood. I "cooked" us dinner (read: made sandwiches), we watched some TV and I didn't think a murderous thought the whole time.

Because by 6:15 this evening, The Bean, who is on her fifth straight night of sleeping in her crib for the WHOLE NIGHT THANK YOU BABY JESUS, had taken her bottle out of her mouth, placed the binky in her mouth and put.herself.to.sleep.

And with the remaining 15 minutes of daylight, I went outside to clean up 2 months worth of dog turds from my backyard.

And apparently, these are the things that make me happy now.