Cowgirl Up

So. Birthday party. That happened.

The other thing that happened was I remembered that I'm seven months pregnant, which apparently makes it like, harder to do stuff than usual. Or something. All I know is that in the middle of setting up for the party that morning I realized that it was taking me about a million years longer to get things done than it should, thanks to all the waddling. Ordinarily I posses a magical hyper-speed setting that makes Joey accuse me of being a humming bird or a teleporter or something. But I guess there is no magical hyper-speed at seven months pregnant, and so I didn't have nearly enough time to get everything set up.

Which made me frustrated, which activated the Pregnant Lady Crying Reflex.

FORTUNATELY my mama had Ariel with her all morning, taking her to dance class and French braiding her hair for the party, so Ariel had no idea that her mother was weeping because It Might Be Too Cold For An Outside Party Today or muttering cuss words at things like tablecloths and the wind.

Nope. As far as she knows, it was just an epic, pony-riding, hoe-down-having, rootin'-tootin' cowgirl party for her and fifteen of her closest friends. "You are my GREAT Mama!" she informed me contentedly afterwards.

Only Joey bore the brunt of witnessed my pre-party meltdowns. And not only did he refrain from murdering me OR stomping off in a righteous huff, but he moved tables and hay bales around multiple times, carried an insanely heavy wooden stage out of the drama classroom and onto the playground over his head and by himself so I could turn it into a dance floor, and listened to me repeat happily as soon as the party began, "See, it's not too cold!" and "I told you all the kids would want to dance!" And was still speaking to me when it was all over.

He is my GREAT husband, that one.