Some questions I am asking myself, a little late in the game:
1. Why did I agree to bring dinner to two different families from our church this week when I have not summoned the strength to make my own personal family dinner in about two weeks?
2. Why did I agree to host a baby shower here Sunday afternoon when I have been off my housecleaning schedule for at least a month and will need to do serious catch-up work?
Answer the First: Bringing old sick people food makes me feel like a warm and generous person, and that my path to heaven is now shiningly paved with good works (I know, I know, that's an old-school and completely backwards sentiment and our pastor would be horrified by it, but there you have it. Somewhere deep in my soul, I firmly believe in karma.)
The other answer is that our local grocery makes really yummy ready to eat roasted chickens for like five bucks. Throw some potatoes in the oven, warm up some dinner rolls, cut open a bag of salad, and voila! A semi-homemade dinner, for which I never had to touch or look at raw meat. Works for me.
Answer the Second: Baby stuff excites me, and even if I'm not in the whole "Yes, there will absolutely be a new baby in our future very soon" phase of pregnancy yet, being around a 37-weeks pregnant woman and all her new baby goodies will remind me that there is an end in sight, and that the end has pastel mints and tiny booties. (It also has stirrups and stitches, but we won't dwell on that now!)
Also, I think I can summon the energy to drag myself to the grocery store and buy a really decadent turtle cheesecake or ice cream cake or something. If I was supposed to be making, say, Superbowl party food for twenty guys this Sunday, I think I might puke myself into a coma somewhere between the hot wings and the meatballs. But cake and ice cream... That I can do.
So there. I have now rededicated myself to these seemingly overzealous commitments. But here's the monkey wrench thrown in to botch my plans: My car is totally scary, shaking and vibrating so much that if you try to talk while riding in it, your voice wobbles like an opera singer's. It was getting ridiculous to be driving it, so I had to drag my tired pregnant heinie out of bed at the ungodly hour of eight thirty, throw on jeans and a coat, and take myself and baby to the Goodyear place, where Jim met us and drove us home. I did get a giant fast food breakfast out of the errand, though, so all was not for naught. What is it about greasy breakfast sandwiches that comforts my stomach? I mean, gross!
The point, however, is that now I am stuck without a car until five thirty every night, for a yet-to-be-determined period of time. The other point is that, what do you know, our income tax return is very likely to be completely spoken for by this and various other expensive-but-necessary repair issues before I ever see a cent of it. Boo. I love how the commercials are always like, "It's tax time! Book your tropical vacation now!" And I'm thinking, "It's tax time! Pay off some of the balance that still remains from giving birth a year and a half ago!"