I sometimes pick out what gown I’d wear if I had a wedding redo. I LOVED my gown, but I wouldn’t mind another one, just to do something different -- like a ball gown, since I didn't wear one for my wedding, I think Meghan Markle owes us a wedding gown redo, but that’s just my opinion.
I get nostalgic over things that never happened. Like, for example — when I hear a certain few songs, I relive a daydream I made up when laying around my bedroom as a teenager: I would get a note to meet my crush of the month at the pool house and he would be there with flowers and a romantic poolside slow dance, proclaiming his affection. I created this “memory” down to the outfit I was wearing and how my hair would look. So, now — whenever I hear these songs, I’m all, awww...I remember when...wait, no that didn’t really happen.
I still love the occasional Red Bull, even though I know they're basically like drinking nail polish remover.
Whenever a stranger coughs anywhere near me in public, I get soooooo annoyed. Cover your mouth with your sleeve and get out, you threat to public health.
For the first time in my life, I’m kind of dreading my birthday this year. 37. I don’t know why this year feels different, but it does. 37 isn’t a milestone or anything. It might be because it was just a year ago when I thought I was 34 or 35 when someone asked. I think I didn't count the time I was pregnant as aging time. It really shouldn't count, ya know? I digress...
I get irrationally upset when in public, and I see someone not following the basic rules of being a human. Like, leaving their empty coffee cup on a store shelf, not returning carts, etc. Like, I have to mentally check myself because confronting people on such things can be dangerous if they're...well, dangerous, and I'm a mom now. But, that stuff legitimately gets my blood boiling. If you ask me (which you didn't), I think leaving your empty coffee cup on a store shelf is the abnormal thing.
I've forgotten how to leave a 'good' voicemail. I rarely leave voicemail messages, so when I have to, I wind up pressing 3 to re-record until I feel like the person who will listen to it won't think I'm going to a pain the ass to return a call to. It's either too long, I'm talking too fast, I forgot to say something important, etc. I'm like the Goldilocks of voicemail.
I have a blister on my palm from Owen's stroller. I feel like a laborer.
Parenting is labor, though -- isn't it? Like, when do moms stop being in labor?