I came home from work and passed out. As in, I walked through the door, walked to the bedroom, fell on my bed full clothed, and passed out for over two hours. And I probably could have slept for days more. Man - I love naptime. I want to marry naptime. I want to have naptime’s babies.

It is now painfully apparent that I did not sleep as long as I needed.

Are you a nap person? Do you nap? Can you nap? What circumstances allow for a good nap and what circumstances does a nap actually make you feel worse? Sometimes I take a nap and feel worse, usually if it’s not long enough. Or if I’m so tired a nap does no good. But even then? I’d still make out with the nap for at least a little while.

Do you remember that I’m a high-anxiety driver? How I plan my trips around rush-hours and left turns? Yes. Well, I drove to Atlanta today. AND SURVIVED. I was so scared. Luckily, traffic was light, otherwise I might be curled up in the fetal position on the side of I-85 right now. Of course, I planned it that way. I decided I’d rather get here a couple hours early than have to drive during/through rush-hour traffic.

The good news? I only have to take a right out of the complex to get to the Super Suppers place tonight. Thank God. If I had to drive into Atlanta and then take a left turn? I’d shoot myself.

I think MrZ is prouder of me now than the day I had an emergency c-section to deliver his daughter. He knows how big of a challenge driving is for me in general, much less in a big city. He was all, “Are you going to go explore?” And I’m like, “Only if there’s stuff to explore on the right side of the road.”

So, on Friday I posted an entry about how much I suck at breaking the news to my family about being pregnant. It wasn’t anything exciting, I guess, but I was sad as the day went on that I had no comments emailed to me. I thought, “I guess people are sick of hearing me talk about the fear of miscarriage as a Spontaneous Aborter. Maybe I should chill out a bit.”

Then, I posted my “Not the Sharpest Knife in the Drawer” entry and after several hours I got NO comments in my email box again. I was like, “Dude. That was funny! Are people so overwhelmed by my stupidity that they can’t see the humor? Do they think I’m making fun of World Culture Day? DO THEY HATE JAMAICA?”

Then, an article I spent a while on the night before went live and again: NOTHING. I really started assuming everyone was sick of the whole “TTC PEOPLE ARE KRAZEE” theme and started wondering if I should stop writing about that stuff. I mean, it’s my blog, so I should write what I want, but I love the dialog and conversation. If no one is commenting, that says something to me.

Finally, I posted my “Results are In: 447” entry and when I checked my email later on Friday - Not. One. Comment in my email. Usually everyone is as excited as I am with good news. This time? Not so much.

I’ll be honest - I was starting to think that you all were sick of me. And I guess I’ve become VERRRRY dependent on your feedback because I was actually considering stopping the pregnancy talk all together. For a few sad moments I even considered taking a few days break from blogging. (Yeah, right.) I’ve always been lucky to have blog friends who “get” me and suddenly I felt like no one did. I was very confused because I found myself considering not talking about that which was important, because I would get no comments. While I love comments as much as the next blogger, I never wanted to be someone who changed my blogging style for comments.

Then - someone emailed me this morning and said their comment never showed up on my site. This happens often and is a sign that Akismet ate it, thinking it was Spam. I went and dug it out and published it as Not Spam. While I was there - I saw that there were a lot of comments listed in my “COMMENTS” window that I hadn’t read. Comments on entries that I thought had no activity. There were pages of them! Why didn’t they get emailed to me? WHY?

Um. They Did. Gmail totally spammed them. I’m sure this is another case of me going “Spam” crazy and clicking the wrong emails to spam (Dear Gmail - you should know better than to trust me!) and there were dozens stuck in the Spam folder in my Gmail. I’m an idiot. Seriously. A huge freakin’ moron.

I’ve gone back and read them all. One. At. A. Time. And I feel like an ass. How could I have doubted how incredibly brilliant you all are. Seriously. I feel like a jerk. I don’t know if I say this enough: But I depend on you all more than you could imagine. I read your blogs and smile at your stories. I take your comments to heart and carry them with me as a light in the darkness. I look at your pictures (I am LOVING all of the new flickr contacts!) and melt over your talent and your awesomeness. I wither at the cuteness of your family (even the 4-legged ones) and love that I can now see them on my flickr page. I follow the links you send and buy the books you recommend. I don’t say it enough: You all rock my damn socks off. You even make me laugh with your comments on flickr. Your awesomeness knows no bounds.

Thanks for being so cool and I’m sorry I had to be all over-dramatic and doubt you this weekend. Is it too soon to blame those meltdowns on the pregnancy? How about on the Prometrium I’m taking? Can we blame it on that? Or how about we just blame it on the rain?

So. Steve and Ronda are always coming back from Costco with really cool things. This week, they scored an easel exactly like what I’ve been wanting to get NikkiZ for her birthday. So, I thought, I guess now is a good time to join Costco.

We decided to head over there tonight. When we got there, I told the guy working that I have had a membership in the past, but I hadn’t renewed it for years. He found my old account on the computer and just set it to renew. He told me I could pay with my debit card and he took it to swipe it at the box further down the counter. Since I knew I’d have to enter my pin, I went to take a few steps in that direction. Towards the box.

Well, evidently the box moves so that all of the registers can use it. It’s not your typical plastic swipe box, it’s one of the older metal boxes with the telephone-like pad. He was picking it up to hand it to me as I was stepping toward it and BAM! He smacked me in the head with the box. The corner of the metal box slammed hard into my forehead.

It hurt kinda bad and probably brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t tell for sure though because I started laughing SO HARD that I was crying over the laughter. I mean, I was hysterical. It took the guy a few minutes of, “Oh My God. I’m so Sorry,” before he realized that my laughter was a good indication I wasn’t upset and he started laughing too. MrZ and LilZ were looking at me with a mix of embarrassment (Only my wife would get beamed in the head with a card swiper.) and pity (My poor mom has so little grace she can even get hurt renewing a Costco membership). But I just kept laughing.

The employee ended up having to take my picture for my new card and even said, “Okay. Now, cover your forehead with your hand to hide the swelling.” Hee. It’s nice to know that my injuries and clumsiness can make even the most professional of workers snarky.

It’s really hard to tell, right now, what personality traits NikkiZ may have inherited from MrZ or I. But there are parts of my own personality I feel like I’m trying to nurture in her. I think I’m mildly scared of the possibility of her being a frilly girly-girl, so I like to encourage her to play outside. With the bugs and the dirt. I try to avoid pink, if I can, and I avoid buying her any clothing with princesses on it. I don’t know if that is a “proper” thing to do, as a parent. Actually - I’m fairly certain it goes against most of my “Be Who You Want” methods. But the fear of her being something I can’t relate to is so strong I steer her in any direction other than that one.

I wouldn’t even let her look at the glittery gowns in the Halloween Costume section. I was pointing out the Monkeys! and Ducks! and Pablo! No Fairies. No princesses. No dancers.

I don’t know why this is such a concern for me. You’d think I was trying to keep her from voting republican, I’m so insistent. My Mom bought her some Spider Man sippy-cups which she loves, and I tried my best to use that to encourage her to choose a Spiderman backpack. But no - she wanted the ones with the Disney Princesses on them. We finally settled on some characters from some pre-school show we don’t watch, but she really wanted the one with Cinderella. Why did I keep her from that? I’m evil. And I’m not even sure why.

With my luck, it’s all going to backfire on me and she’ll end up wearing a tiara until she’s 35.