Last night I almost burned the house down. And not in a “Ha, ha, she almost burned the house down” way (although is there ever really a “ha, ha way” to burn your house down?);  it was more like a “holy shit, we’re lucky to have somewhere to sleep tonight” way. Basically I was cooking taco meat, put it on simmer, went out to run errands (which may have included a delicious pastry from John Campbell’s Irish Bakery), picked up Chris and headed home to find the house smelling like charred beef. I’m such a terrible cook, I honestly didn’t think twice about it – isn’t meat supposed to smell like a BBQ gone bad? – until I went to the stove and realized the beef had pretty much curled up into balls of charcoal because I’d left an open flame going for two hours. And, more terrifyingly, there was a paper bag, on the stove, sitting inches from the open flame. Who leaves paper bags on her stove?!? And who messes up taco meat using a packet?!?

Chris was such a trooper he actually ATE the taco meat, although there wasn’t much sour cream left by the time he was done (very reminiscent of the time I cooked spaghetti for my family when I was about eight and everyone had to gag down noodles that I’d boiled for almost an hour. Longer = better, right?).

And I’d love to tell you this was an isolated incident, but I have a whole list. Oh, you want me to share it with you to make you feel better about your far superior brain power? Here you go and, keep in mind, these are only the events I remember. Dude, we’re in trouble.

DUMB THINGS I’VE DONE WHILE PREGNANT:

Things I’ve thrown away: a brand new tube of mascara, my keys, a just cooked bagel

My least favorite was the keys because I spent a full hour trying to find them and finally realized I probably tossed them with the trash from the car (hey, at least I brought in the trash from the car).

My favorite was when the teenager at Einstein’s handed me my bagel and I walked over to the trash and threw it away. Literally. He handed it to me and I threw it in the trash (not even the compost, for God’s sake). I went back up to the counter and we had this little exchange:

Me: I just threw away my bagel.

Him: Why would you do that?

Me: Because I’m pregnant?

Him: Huh.

Yes, my dear bagel friend, huh, indeed. (He very kindly made me another one and didn’t even charge me.)

I know, let’s play Chris’ favorite game called “What the Hell is My Wife Talking About?” If you can correctly guess the word I’m looking for in all three instances, you are officially not pregnant. Or having a really cognizant day. Congratulations!

1. Can you get me the thing where I put my things to carry them around when I leave the house? (Oh, you mean a purse?)

2. I need to go to the place where they keep our money and hand out suckers. (That would be a bank.)

3. So I read this article on the… Oh, you know, the place where I work. It’s fast and tells us things. (The word you’re looking for is the Internet. You know the place where I work.)

Does my husband deserve a round of applause or what?

Things I’ve dropped:
-a Starbucks that I literally just let go of. Not over a table or a counter. I pretty much just threw it on the floor (they also very kindly made me another one).

-my phone, only 759 times

-my sunglasses, only 354 times

-an entire dish of pasta, which I also just threw on the floor. Which was weird because I was really, really hungry.

BUT NOT MY DAUGHTER. Phew.

General Dumbness:
-At my baby shower, a friend gave me a card that read, “I like it when my husband and son dress the same” (hint: this is a big clue). I then opened two hats – one baby-sized and one much larger – and exclaimed how great it was the baby would have a hat to fit no matter what the size of his head when he was born. What I was actually thinking was ”OMG, my son’s head better not fit into that enormous hat or it’s going to be one helluva a birth.”

And, yes, the hat fits Chris’ head quite nicely.

-Today I texted my friend a question we had discussed in length last night (like 10 or so texts back and forth) as if we’d never had last night’s conversation. It’s like I’m an amnesia patient and every day is a totally clean slate…

Feel better? The scary thing is I still have eight more weeks out in the wild… I’ll keep you updated.

I was talking with one of my friends about ways to not let social media take over your life and we came up with…zilch. My solution lately has been to go pretty much offline, which I think we can all agree is a brilliant move for a blogger, but which isn’t working because, well, I’m a blogger. When I’m with Alice, though, I want to give her my full attention – I’m already grocery listing and distracted by pretty things – so I’ve been trying to find a middle ground where I get my job done without turning, for example, into the mom whose kid tries on an aisle of lipstick while she’s on her phone tweeting about her swollen ankles. I offer this merely as an example, which has nothing to do with the fact I know Alice can rock Maybelline’s Ravishing Rouge like nobody’s business.

The one place where I have made strides is with my inbox. One day I realized having 3,127 emails in your inbox is a teensy bit overwhelming and, perhaps, not the most effective way of managing communications. I kept reading about this service called SaneBox, which invokes such passion people claim “to want to marry it.” I was skeptical (I already have a pretty hot husband) but it’s free to try so why not? A month into it and, let’s just say, I’ve started thinking about how many carats I’d like.

It is AWESOME. Basically, it’s like a really smart assistant for your inbox. It goes through your emails (magically, obviously) and filters them into different folders based on how important it thinks they are. If they’re from an actual person, they’ll stay in your inbox, otherwise, they filter into a SaneLater folder for you to read later or a SaneNews folder so you can glance at your newsletters at once. Then once a day (or however often you set it up) they send you a compilation of all your emails so you can quickly look them over and move anything important to your inbox or bulk delete.

At first I was terrified I’d miss an important email, but, you guys, I didn’t miss anything. Because turns out that out of the bazillion emails I get a day, I actually only care about a fraction of them; the rest were draining what little mental energy I have left and taking time away from the present. I’ll admit, it’s totally disconcerting at first to check your email and only see a couple new ones rather than the hundreds or so I would have had before (no ones loves me!), but it’s also been a reality check for how I spend my time. It’s way easier to go through all my newsletters, Facebook and Twitter notifications, and – fine – sale emails and bulk delete or act on them at once rather than one by one as they come in. I feel a lot less important, but am getting over it, because knowing about the latest Fab.com sale probably isn’t the best way to get a hit of self-esteem, am I right?

Once a week they also send an email that outlines how much time you save by using their service; last week they calculated I saved over 4.5 hours, which I obviously put to good use scrubbing the kitchen and bonding with my daughter (ie. online shopping and napping). One of these weeks I’m going to use it for something really important like working out world peace or learning how to tweet while sleeping…

Heart’s Desire Ruffle Dress is from the always lovely Spool 72.

When I was pregnant with Alice I moved to my own planet. I decided that my life was not going to change at all, books/friends/random strangers on the street with all your “opinions” be damned. Case in point, I made a big deal of the fact I wasn’t going to need maternity clothes; larges would accomodate my belly just fine, thank you very much. I mean what’s up with all these pregnant ladies thinking they need a special line of clothes just to get through the day? My body wasn’t going to change, my relationships weren’t going to change, and, you better believe, my jam-packed schedule was not going to change one single bit.

I was an idiot. And, yes, I ate crow, washed down by a very large Krispy Kreme donut because by that point I’d figured out the joys of maternity jeans.

This time around I hold no such ill-conceived follies. I know our lives are going to be toppled upside-down beyond recognition for a year or so before they finally right themselves… And, wait, I forgot to tell you our big news! I never know how to tell people so I just kind of slip it in and, yes, WE’RE PREGNANT! We are absolutely thrilled and couldn’t be happier. Alice is obsessed with being a “big sister”, which I assume lasts until the baby actually gets here.

It’s weird with the second one because I forget all the time I’m even pregnant, but, when I do remember, there’s a knowing that wasn’t there with Alice. In place of all the fear and incessant worrying (although there’s still plenty of that), there’s a buzzing excitement of what’s to come: the daily discoveries of what thrills and interests this completely new-to-the-world person; the way this one will no doubt challenge me in a completely different manner while opening my heart in unforeseen ways; getting to see Alice in a completely new role and Chris further embrace his dad-ness; having bigger and better dance parties; sharing the love around our family even more.

I know it’s going to totally kick my ass, you guys, and I don’t even care. Either I’m living on my own planet or I’ve finally come down to Earth…