Okay, I stole that one from A Tale of Two Cities. But it would make a great opener for the pregnancy bitch book I could write. But after Jenny McCarthy's, well...

Best of times, in that last Sunday, my hubby and I were standing in line for a potluck that was going on at our church. A friend approached me later and said she saw us laughing together in line, and just commented on how nice it was to see people who had been married for some time still enjoying each other. Well sure, I thought. We've ONLY been married ten years. We aren't tired of each other yet! But I enjoyed the compliment, and hope we still enjoy each other as much in another ten years.

And the inside joke? Anyone who follows college football has to know how the WSU Cougars got CREAMED by USC 69-0. On their home turf. Needless to say, we aren't exactly Cougar fans. So for us, it was worth a chuckle.

And the worst of times? Well, let the hormones do the talkin', that's all I'm saying. There have been the usual "small" list of problems that crop up at work. In normal times, I would just shake my head and try to ignore it all. But of course, with my hormones, I now take everything personally. The candy and soda machines are empty and the person in charge of them won't refill them. That's enough for a worker's strike right there. Someone calls in, and I get to cover their shift? Just freakin' kill me now. Someone forgot to order paper for the copier? Heresy. Someone comes in angry to the front desk and gives ME and earful about their poor problems, and how the cops are ruining their lives. Abomination.

You get the idea. The 'f' word gets tossed around more than usual. My DH gives me funny looks when he asks if I want to watch something on TV with him, and I say no, I'm too tired, even after I've slept half the day away from the previous graveyard shift.

And I got paralyzed today. I was asked a question. It stopped me in my tracks. And it was over something so small and yet so nice at the same time. A friend asked me for a copy of a story I told her about that I wrote. She's been telling her friends about the story, and they want to read it. For some reason, that froze me. It's a good story, but I haven't subbed it anywhere. For some reason, I don't want to let go of the story until I've subbed it. I should get on the ball. For some reason, writing is not something I seem to be good about multi-tasking on. I'm making a baby, for Chrissakes! I can't write! I can't take the time to submit something, and risk rejection that would triple or quadruple the hormonal roller coaster I'm on!

Boy, that sounds (and looks) so lame on the screen. Good thing. But when it's in my head, it's more real. I somehow should be able to come to terms with the POSSIBILITY of being a writer and a good wife/mother at the same time. Others do it, right? Are there writer/mothers out there who don't have a sink filled with dishes or a washer filled with moldy wet clothes? Am I the only one? Did I just publicly confess to something that only I am a victim of?

Laugh amongst yourselves while I beat my head against a wall. Someday, I'll look back on this and laaaaauugh. I think I'm going to get online and order Monthy Python's Meaning of Life. Right now, the skit of the woman in labor and that "wonderful machine that goes 'PING!'" would be quite appropriate right now! With the obligatory bucket of chocolate ice cream, of course!