Of course, my muscle (aka The Firefighter), who was supposed to be off, was put on "forced" overtime. Because that's just how life works. But, I wasn't to be deterred, since Miss Chatterbox and I had been looking forward to it, you know, for all of 12 hours. It seemed to be just what we both needed to get out of this moody funk we've both been in. So, I loaded up The Hoss (The Firefighter's ridiculously large and overpowered pickup truck that makes every redneck man from here to Beaufort drool, stare and drawl, "that's a nice truck you got there, ma'am.") with all the appropriate beach crap and the wagon to drag it all.
It was a beautiful sunny day. Not quite warm enough for swimming, but great for playing in the sand and dipping our toes in the water.
|Isn't she just a doll!|
|My take on artsy fartsy photography. Not too shabby for a phone camera, huh?|
For The Bun, it was a great day for eating sand. Lots of it. I've been cleaning it out of her butt for more than 12 hours.
|You only get my back, Momma, since you put me in this ridiculous hat!|
Wanna know the funniest part of going to the beach? The stares I got. At 22 weeks, I am clearly pregnant. Not the cute little basketball belly pregnant. Nope, not me. I'm the big ol' blobby, Jessica Simpson-esque, boobs and belly proceed me, "are you sure there's only one in there," kinda pregnant.
Since I wore my "give a shit" out on babies #1 and #2, I couldn't give a kangaroo's fart about what other people think. I don't even care if they know I'm pregnant. So, it was hugely amusing to watch people try to reason out, since I was holding a young infant, if I was pregnant again or just didn't lose the weight. Or maybe they're just jealous of the awesomeness of my humongously perky lady lumps. Not just anyone can handle having boobs big enough to whack you in the chin, you know. Whatever, either way, I got a kick out of making some strangers squirm. One lady, being all nosey, tried to allude to it, but I just laughed and didn't help her out. Yeah, I know, I'm a bitch like that.
I specifically went to the county park part of the beach at Isle of Palms for one singular reason. The proximity to a real working potty.
What didn't I count on? Not having enough arms!
Perhaps, you more seasoned mothers can tell me, how the hell YOU do YOUR business while corralling a three year old in the stall and holding a 7 month old? Three year old can't hold the seven month old while standing, and sitting them on the floor is -ewww- not an option?
Obviously, I managed my business, but there has to be a better way. It was kinda awkward to do while holding an infant on my lap and shouting at Miss Chatterbox to keep the door shut because, "my vajayjay is not a disco, baby. Other people don't want to see it."
Luckily, Miss Chatterbox was so distracted she did not feel the need to repeat that one. But there sure was a whole lot of snickering coming out of the stall next to me...
All and all it was a great day, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. Provided that heartbeat came with another body with a functioning set of arms.
Happy Thursday, Everbody!