When I asked MrZ if he wanted to camp with us on Friday he said, “Well, it’s the last weekend before the baby gets here and I need to finish the house.” I love how he felt the need to point out that it’s the last weekend - LIKE I AM NOT AWARE.

MrZ has had one thing on his To Do list: Paint The House. He is almost done with the blue, will finish this weekend if the weather holds up for him. My list, on the other hand, is contains everything else. I’ve been washing baby clothes and bassinet bedding. I’ve been buying supplies (I forgot how small newborn diapers are!) and washing all of NikkiZ’s old items. I’ve tried to hunt down another diaper bag like the one we have for NikkiZ - but they don’t make it anymore. (I’ll rant about that later.) I’ve been scrubbing the house and washing the sheets. And there’s still SO MUCH more to do.

And for some reason? I feel the need to TELL EVERY LITTLE THING to my husband. It’s like I’m afraid that he’s sitting there thinking, “I’ve got to paint the house and what the hell is my fat lazy wife doing the whole time?” Which - he would never think. (At least he’d better not.) But for some reason? I act like he’s thinking it every second of every day and I find myself listing out ever little mundane thing I’ve done to prepare for AndyZ’s arrival. And if I plan something like a night camping - (I’m keeping my fingers crossed it will work out) - then I feel like I have to explain that. “I just want to have some quality time with the two other kids before AndyZ invades our lives.”

WHY DO I DO THIS? My husband has never made me feel like I should be doing more, so why do I act like he’s keeping some sort of tally in his head of the amount of time we each spend working…just to make sure I’m doing my share. I don’t even think he would care if I simply sat on my ass all day eating bon bons.

(Hey…that’s a good idea…)

Yet still - I feel like I must prove myself to him every day. Because I am certifiable and he is a saint for either (a) putting up with it or (b) ignoring it. Either way - good for him. One of us needs to be mentally stable when this kid gets here.

I’m not going to BlogHer this year. It started as an impossibility because I was planning another GREAT BIG TRIP for the summer. However, that GREAT BIG TRIP has now been canceled so my convenient excuse is not so much of one now. It’s weird, since the trip has been canceled, I’ve found myself looking for other excuses to give:

• I’ll have just had a baby!
• I don’t have any money!
• I’m allergic to California!

I suddenly found myself wondering, why am I so hesitant to go this year?

I think part of it is because I acted like such an anti-social freak and complete fool last year. I mean - I can blame the cramps and the post-miscarriage blues all I want. But the truth is? I’m terribly embarrassed by how much I hid out last year. And I fear that if I went this year and acted in the same asinine way, I’d have no good excuse. Then I’d finally have to just come out and say it, “I’m a complete fool at big social gatherings. I’m the shy, insecure, embarrassed girl with the big curly hair in the corner. Don’t approach me or I might wither under the pressure.”

Marilyn wrote a great post this morning about how these gatherings/events tend to be all-to-often referred to as resembling Junior High. And it seems to bug her as much as it bugs me. Because yeah, not everyone whose blog I read stood before me with open arms demanding I come sit at their table and be their BFFs. But you know what? I don’t look at that as a sign that these gatherings are like high school. I look at them that they are like LIFE.

I am not accepted with open arms a lot of places. I try to talk to other Moms at the park and sometimes they’re friendly and sometimes they run away screaming. I don’t then sit back and say, “This is just like high school.” No. It’s just life. In life, sometimes we’re accepted and sometimes we’re not.

But also? Blaming my nonacceptance on some sort of similarity to high school would be denying any responsibility of my own. I am NOT GOOD IN SOCIAL SITUATIONS. Period. End of story. Get a few beers in me and I’ll be better, but in general? Not so much. I’m scared of people. I’m scared of talking to people I don’t know. I’m scared I’ll hug someone too aggressively and they’ll report me to the police. I’ve approached a few of my blogging idols and totally faltered under the pressure, feeling like a complete fool. I’ve been approached by other blogger and been so aggressive with my greeting them that I end up looking like a COMPLETE FOOL.

Do you see the trend?

Blog gatherings and Mommy Blogger events are not like high school. They’re like life. Sometimes groups form without me. A lot of times they do. And other times I’m welcomed in with open arms. Sometimes I scare people, sometimes I insult people, and sometimes people actually like me. It’s just life.

Unfortunately, it still all boils down to this: I SUCK AT THEM.

So, this year? I’m going to be honest. I’m not going to BlogHer. The main reason really is the money (I promise!) - I’ll be on unpaid maternity leave. That’s a bad time to plan a cross-country trip. But, the second reason in line? Is that I’m a big ole’ chicken shit who acts like a COMPLETE FOOL in social situations and makes people who think, “She seems like she’s be cool from her blog!” re-assess the situation and think, “Some people should just stay behind the Wordpress Dashboard.”

(Although, if you see any of the ladies I’ve photographed at the past BlogHers this year, will you hug them for me? And be really aggressive about it or they won’t believe it’s actually from me. I’m a violent hugger.)

Can someone please explain to me why I’ve developed this incredibly outrageous addiction to bubblegum? And not the sugar-free kind. No, that stuff does not satisfy my cravings. I mean - GUMBALLS. It started with a bag from Fresh Market that I demolished in a few weeks. But now? I’m working my way through what may be my 57th bag of Rain-Blo Easter Eggs. Those things have the shortest taste-span of any gumball I’ve ever eaten. 5 seconds and the sugary goodness is GONE. So what do I do? Pop in another. I seriously can not stop chewing these stupid things. I even threw the bag away the other day! And then the next morning, what did I do?

I dug it OUT OF THE GARBAGE.

And chewed some more.

(Disclaimer - it was not a garbage can with food in it. It was a paper garbage can. It’s not like I’m now chewing gum with last night’s dinner dripping on it.)

(Or am I?)

Send help. Quickly.

(Please don’t forget about my Giveaway which ends on Friday. Come join the Young Adult Fiction Loving Frenzy!)

On Monday, MrZ asked me what I had done that day. It’s his very sweet way of showing an interest in my home life and I love it when he asks. I was a little busy with dinner and just threw out the two things I knew off the top of my head: I went grocery shopping and painted a door. I continued to work on whatever it was I was tending to and didn’t continue so he said, “That’s all? Painting and groceries?”

Now - He meant that as in, “Are you finished listed off the things you’ve done because you seem a little distracted?” However, can anyone guess how I took that line? I took it as, “You’ve been home all day while I’m slaving at the office and all you’ve accomplished is grocery shopping and painting one door? Lazy Whore.” Because, if we know anything about my husband, it’s that he’s totally the type of guy who would think that. Let’s not discuss my tear-filled reaction to his very innocent line, okay? My poor husband.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately (I know! Right?) about how to trudge through some of my sensitivity and emotional issues. I think I’ve decided I can trace a lot of my problems back to my need for validation. I’ve been throwing that word around in my marriage for years. If I had a dollar for every time I said, “I’m not asking for help, just a little bit of acknowledgment for what I do around here…” I’d be rich. I know it’s not a big request and when I’ve blogged about it - many of you have agreed you throw similar lines out to the people you live with. But I started thinking…why?

I’m quite proud of all that I accomplish in any given day. Now - I’m a little more insecure as a SAHM - but when I was working full-time I was really proud that I was able to keep the house running and have a job. The only times I start to doubt myself is when I start to recognize that no one else has noticed what I do. Then I start thinking, “Well…maybe they don’t think I do enough…”

This is so sad. Why am I so concerned with what other people think? I’m 32 for chrissakes. Why am I still looking for outside praise in my life?

I spent a large portion of my youth looking for some sort of external validation. As a teen it was more about how I look, but as I got older it became more about who I am. And I’m not sure why. Today - I mainly seek that sort of attention from my husband. I put all of the weight of my own self-importance on his shoulders. (Yes - I’m quite aware of how unfair that is.) But, I know other women who have looked for praise from their girlfriends, or Moms, or siblings. So - I’m wondering about all of you out there who have commiserated with my insecurity issues in the past. Who are the people in your life you crave validation from? Whose approval or commendation do you strive for? Is it strictly professional and a feeling you carry around to get further in your job? Needing praise from a boss? Or is it personal and something you look for in family or friends?

I guess I’m just looking to see how KRAZEE I am. Am I normal crazy like all of you? Because I find comfort in numbers. It’s when I’m the only one with a particular brand of crazy that I get concerned.

Notice the concentration. She takes her art very seriously.

I told MrZ last night that yesterday was one of the hardest parenting days I’ve had with NikkiZ. This was after two failed attempts to get her to sleep at night and me finally begging him to be the one that leaves her crying in her crib. He did - and this time she only cried for about 5 minutes before going to sleep. She hasn’t given us a problem at night bedtime in months. That was out of the blue and completely indicative of the fact that so many of you said: She has my number. Yes. Yes she does.

So - yesterday was very hard. And do you know what he said? He said, “Really? How so?”

Life would be easier if he would read my blog.

I’m worried that this transition will be just as hard on us as on me alone. I was trying to let him get some NikkiZ time last night while I worked. She was crying for me and I heard him say, “Honey, mommy needs a break. You have to play with me now.” And I lost my shit. To him? That’s the truth. And in reality? It’s not that far from it. But to me? I’m upset because I’m afraid she’s hearing, “Your mommy can’t handle being your mom 24-hours-a-day so I have to take over for her sometimes since she’s inadequate and possibly doesn’t even like you that much.”

I know - right? He probably shouldn’t have phrased it like that - but there was no need for me to freak out and panic that my daughter was going to think I hated her. It’s like my insecurities have gotten nine million times worse in the last two weeks. And I didn’t think that was possible. I’m suddenly worried that my husband is going to think I’ve got it easy and cushy while he’s slaving away at work, so I try to have measurable tasks to present when he gets home. Like library books and artwork. Proof we did something. I get up before he does and I try my best to stay up later, just to “prove” myself to him. And does he ask for any of this? No. But, will he get yelled out if he even tries to imply his day is harder? Yes. Last night he said he wanted to sit on the couch because he was tired and I immediately started crying.

Again - I’m an awesome wife.

So, I guess I’m turning this blog into a place where I vent my anxieties and insecurities because every time I do, many of you pipe up and say, “Me Too.” And for some reason, the KRAZEE feels a lot less extreme when we’re all feeling it together.