I'm just going to start off by blaming my crazy, whacked out hormones for every psycho thing that I do. That just makes me feel better. You know, it's not a permanent part of me to be insane. Never mind that I am as "Type A" as they come. Believe me, it's just the hormones.
I just got back from a week long adventure (which is my substitute word for what should be "vacation") in New York City. Ah, the Big Apple. During the New Year celebrations. I can only mildly impress upon you how crowded it was! I think this somehow reiterates my mental instability, without hormones to blame. But, we were all determined to go out and have fun. (And, NO, we were NOT on Times Square at midnight!) So, I wrapped my 8 month old onto myself, making sure we were both warm enough in the frigid air, and walked around the city. Luckily, Bug slept a lot, and cried a little.
Eventually, Bug got heavy. I'm not a big believer in strollers (not that I could have pushed one around in the crowds of New York anyway). Wonderfully, I did have family willing to take over and carry the little guy for a while to give me a break. This is where I turn crazy. No matter how much I trust my mom, or my sister, or even my husband for that matter...if I'm in a huge, strange, and disgustingly crowded city...I kind of freak out. Every single minute I was looking around, trying to see his little green hat, frantically exclaiming, "Where's my baby!?!?! I can't see my baby!!! I need to see my baby!!!" My family would all try to calm me and reassure me that every thing would be fine, and we would make it through the crowd and regroup, and Bug will be fine, and that I didn't need to have ANOTHER nervous breakdown. Deep down, I knew everything would be fine. And, of course, everything was fine...the whole time, everything was perfectly fine! But, darn those blasted hormones!