Two Year Anniversary

I never thought I would be this girl. I wanted to be this girl- but I really had thrown in the towel that I would ever BE this girl.
When I approached my 30's, single as a single could be, I began to question what was going on with me. My SIL's told me without any hesitation that I had "commitment" problems. I couldn't have disagreed more, but those words sat with me. And grew. And nagged at me as I continued to cry my way through lease signings- refuse to schedule any type of vacation- and shirk any form of lengthy project- such as a Master's program.
Eventually I came to see their angle and began to absorb that there was some truth to their words.
The funny thing is that all along the way- my goals had remained the same, and I was resolute about that. I want to be married to the perfect guy for me, own a house, and have his babies. I want to belong to church, I want to stop spending my weekends at the bar, and I want my family to come back into sharp focus.
Since that time, things have changed so much. I credit my SIL's for forcing me to see the truth, I credit my Mom for being patient, and I credit myself for finally facing what I didn't want to see.
This weekend, as I sat in my condo, celebrating our two year wedding anniversary, five months pregnant, my calendar filled with family gatherings, church a regular part of my life, and bars a place I haven't seen in months- maybe years, I am finally happy. Really happy.
My husband and I decided to not DO gifts but instead got massages and went pheasant hunting together. It was one of the nicest weekends of my life. And despite some major skepticism by what were my friends at the time, I couldn't have made a better decision in choosing him to become my lawfully wedded husband. I am just thankful my SIL's got their hands on me before I passed him up.

Stick of What?

So, um, yeah, about that being pregnant stuff. Things have begun to take on new odors lately. I am not particularly sick. Nor especially tired. I am considering myself lucky. And aside from my amazing snout, and an incredible aversion to my favorite food of all time, hummus, things are running smoothly.

So back to that snout thing.

Last night, a friend of ours came with us to try out a new church, Harvest. As we were walking in, he popped a stick of gum in his mouth. After we sat down, he offered a stick to Billy, who sat between us. Because I was running to the bathroom and taking my coat off, I hadn't noticed. Once settled, and as the service began, Billy leaned over and asked me if I also would like a stick. But as he talked, an overwhelming bathroom smell came over me.

"NO!" I said. "I mean, no thank you." And then I started to giggle. "What?" Billy whispered. "Nothing! I will tell you later!".

After church, we went to dinner. Wherein our friend ordered a glass of red wine. And even though it was sitting ample distance from me, the scent wafting out of the glass seemed to be making a beeline for my nose, and henceforth making me want to seriously gag. I was very thankful when my entree showed up, crowding the smell space and therefore overpowering the wine scent, putting me back at ease.

As we were leaving the restaurant, a stick of the before mentioned gum fell out of Billy's coat pocket. The friend said, "OH! Lori! Your gum! Bill, you never gave it to her?" I just stood there and stared blankly at "my" gum, now laying in it's foil wrapper on the restuarant floor. Sighing, Billy picked it up and shoved it back in his pocket, mumbling, "She didn't want it."

When we got home, Billy asked me what the deal with the gum was. "OH!" I said. "It smelled like a urinal cake". "What?" he asked. A urinal cake. That gum wreaked of urinal cake and almost sent me running to the ladies. So no. I don't want that stick of gum, not then and especially not after being on the floor.

All thing considered, I can't complain.