A little emotional. (Okay, a lot.)

This morning I had to change sheets on the bunk-beds for the zillionth time this month and I hit my head on the top bunk when I was climbing out from tucking in the top sheet. (There's a goose-egg on the back of my head). And I cried. Not because of the pain, but because hitting my head gave me a reason to.


I spilled my coffee all over my alarm clock this morning when I was gathering up the dirty dishes that were piled on my nightstand (don't ask). I'm not sure if I was more upset by the alarm clock getting soaked or because the inside of my coffee cup was suddenly unoccupied. Either way, I cried. Again.

I realized (as I was trying desperately to organize our space in the upstairs of my parents house) that no matter how many times I rearrange all the crap stuff in our bedrooms, we simply do not have enough space for me to not feel claustrophobic not to mention the fact that we're adding another CHILD to the mix in a few months. And I cried yet again.

Then I remembered last night when we were laying in bed and listening to our three older kids deep breathing in their sleep (in the room connected to ours by a wall that goes 3/4 of the way to the ceiling) that my husband put his head gently on my belly and whispered sweet words to our baby as he held my hand. And I cried some more.

I might be an emotional wreck lately, you guys.

(Still living vicariously through me, Jackie?)