...two cookies. I did. 2. I havent' had cookies in weeks. I shouldn't have had them today. But you see my MIL sent us a butt-load of cookies and some banana bread. None of which I should be eating since my BS is behaving so badly as it is. TOO BAD. I am grumpy and worried and lonely and hugely pregnant. My mom was in a pretty serious car accident on Monday and is in the hospital. In NY. I am in Germany. She was on a vent and had surgery for an arm fracture. I am not there. You see this is my momma. She has enough issues with MS as it is, the last thing she needs is to be stuck in a bed with broken ribs and a cast for an undetermined amount of time. I want to be there. Sadly, tickets are expensive which I could deal with, but I'm pregnant enough that riding a 9 hour plane ride is probably a BAD IDEA. CRAP. My husband is in the field and therefore not here to yell at and beat on (aka cuddle with and cry on) I want my momma. I want my husband. Instead...I got my puppy and 5 dozen cookies. So I ate cookies. Damn gestational diabetes anyways. Tomorrow I'll go back to my no carbs and good BS, but I don't think one day of letting go will hurt the baby. Because I needed cookies.
A military wife is mostly girl. But there are times, such as when her husband is away and she is mowing the lawn or fixing a youngster's bike, that she begins to suspect she is also boy. She usually comes in three sizes: petite, plump and pregnant. During the early years of her marriage it is often hard to determine which size is her normal one. She has babies all over the world and measures time in terms of places as other women do in years.
I'm a 23 year old wife and mom trying to find a place in the world. I'm my husband's mistress since he's married to the army. I love to read, cook, and eat, not necessarily in that order. I live, I laugh, I cry, and sometimes I even get it right.