Three Thirteen Twenty Twelve

Motherhood. Four years ago today I was initiated into this bizarro world. 


Today my son and I have gone to Wal-Mart for Silly String and a cherry Icee. The Silly String was something he asked me for ages ago and I 'promised' to him for his birthday. He re-asked for it when he woke me up at 6am. 


Today my husband has a job interview with a company he worked for years ago. This could potentially change our lives for the way better. 


The Silly String is now gone, sprayed onto each other with giggles. Good times. 


What I came here to blog about is something that literally just happened. (warning-it involves my ass and the bathroom)


My husband had come home to change into his suit before his interview, and to play Silly String with the kid and me. I needed to use the bathroom before we went outside, but seeing as there was a time element involved, I decided to hold it. 


(the kid just came in here telling me he wanted to type. this is after I've told him fifteen thousand times that I will be with him in a few minutes when I am finished. I told him no he may not type. he is now having a major fit on the stairs, yelling, 'why whyyyyyyyyy'. Jesus Lord help me)


So. Went outside. Silly String. Wooo. Came back inside. Husband was doing his final prep---teeth brushed, fresh shave, etc.  I once again decided to hold it because I figured that I would need to sit for a few minutes and I wanted to be able to say goodbye to husb.


We're now going on twenty minutes. After being accused of being crabby, I explain that I have been holding it for twenty minutes and AM NOT CRABBY!


Husband leaves. Son goes into his room. I dash into my master bath to finally relieve myself. 
Then I hear screams from my son's room. SCREAMS. 'HELP ME HEELLLLP MEEEEEEEE AAAAHH HELP MEEEEEEEE!'
The type of scream that demands immediate attention. (by the way, he is still wailing on the stairs right now)
So, I RUN out of the bathroom, pants around my ankles, to go rescue my son who is obviously in grave danger, on fire, or being dragged to hell by demons. 
To find...


Him with his arm between the bed and the wall. Screeching for help. I pull him up. No blood. No demons. No fire. 


He wanted the (expletive deleted expletive deleted expletive deleted) Chipmunk toy that had fallen down there.


THIS. IS. WHY. MOMS. DRINK. 
except I cannot because I am pregnant. Have a glass (or four) for me, if that's your thing. 


In conclusion, he came to me and apologized and now wants to snuggle with me and watch Ghostbusters. Its not that I'm complaining. I just feel that this part of life needs EXPOSURE.