Pregnant

I'm hardly ever aware of when I'm being crazy, but sometimes it's so obvious that I'm not only aware, but also thoroughly disgusted.

George, my sweet sweet husband, is amazing.  For my birthday, he booked a sitter and bought us tickets to see the touring Broadway production of The Little Mermaid.  I've always loved the movie, but I really fell in love with The Little Mermaid in a disturbingly obsessive way after Drakeson did at Disney World this past July.  I had been looking forward to our date on October 3rd since my birthday in mid-August.  George and I arrived at Bass Concert Hall on time, Drakeson was perfectly happy at home in very good hands, and everything should have been perfect.  But it wasn't.

We had found ourselves in sea of 3-year-old mermaids and their loving parents.  Kids.  Booster seats.  Babies.  Criers.  And none of them loved the story as much as Drakeson.  Of course, the only reason Drakeson wasn't there was that we had no idea toddlers were permitted, but nevertheless, I felt like the only jerk mom in the whole building, and in a wash of hormones, I cried.  During my wonderful date with my handsome husband watching a Broadway musical I had been so excited to see, I cried in public several times.  During intermission, I bought an Ursula doll for Drakeson, and that eased my guilt enough to make it through the second half of the show.  But it would be a lie to claim that everything had been set right.

The next evening was the last showing in Austin.  In what can only be described as very poor financial management skills or pure insanity, we bought three tickets.  Drakeson loved it.