I make it no secret that I love television.

Clearly, I love my drama shows. Love them. They are all my personal friends and I refuse to believe that it’s all pretend.

(Yes, I am referring to Meredith and Derrick. Thanks for asking).

I also love a good comedy…although I must admit that it seems that the 30 minute family sitcom is few and far between. I have 3 comedy’s that I watch and 3 dramas that I watch every week.

(Hello Michael Scott).

While I love these shows, I’ve gotta be honest, Say Yes to the Dress on TLC is my most favorite show.

Too much? I think not.

Apparently I’m obsessed with wedding dresses.

Totally and completely obsessed.

Granted, I love, love, love all things weddings, so it’s not completely odd, but I’m normally more into the wedding details, rather than the obvious things…like the dress.

Thanks to this show, I simply must have a renewal ceremony of our vows every 10 years.

Do you think that would be overdoing it?

Nah.

After I drool over the beautiful wedding dresses I cry over A Baby Story.

When I say cry, I mean cry. Like big ugly crying that ends with black mascara running down my cheeks. It kills me every time.

My latest love? Actually, love is strong. It’s more like a train wreck that I am glued to and can’t look away. You guessed it, Toddlers and Tiaras. I’m torn between calling Child Protective Services and laughing hysterically at these completely ridiculous people. My favorite line so far you ask? That’s easy. “My goal in life is to have my daughter become Miss America.”

Really? Really? Really?

Is she being paid? There is no way that that is her life’s goal.

Also? Said child is 15 months old.

Now remember that My Bitzy is 14 months old. Just thinking about doing the things to my baby that this crazy mama is doing to her baby makes me cringe. For one thing, Bitzy would have none of it. Things like baby fake nails, blow drying and curling hair, and duct taping a dress to her tiny little body wouldn’t exactly fly with my girl. Bitzy has no tolerance for getting her clothes changed, much less any of the above activities.  Again, CPS anyone?

Also? She actually said, “I just don’t know how my girl will react if she doesn’t win. She loves to win.” I hate to break it to this insane mama, but if you’re kid is 15 months old I’m not quite convinced that she’ll be heartbroken if she doesn’t win the crown. Give the child some goldfish crackers and some milk and she’ll survive.

Then there’s My Strange Addiction.

Oh my.

“I’m addicted to wearing fur suits.”

“I’m addicted to pulling out my hair.”

“I’m addicted to eating couch cushions.”

“I’m addicted to eating toilet paper.”

“I’m addicted to eating laundry detergent.”

Need I say more?

Well, maybe that my strange addiction is watching crazy shows on TLC.

There, I said it.

TLC is awesome. Way awesome.

I betcha you’re never gonna guess what that little blob is??? It’s my little baby silly! Can you believe that there’s a blob in my belly?

I can’t either.

With my Bitzy I was sick, as in barfing my brains out from 4 weeks-20 weeks. It wasn’t pretty people. In addition to being a human puke faucet (sorry for the visual, just keeping it real), I was exhausted 24 hours a day. I came home from work every day and collapsed on the couch and slept only to wake up to eat dinner (and the subsequent barfing) and then back to sleep again.  And also, I spotted from 5 weeks-9 weeks, making this kooky mama a real life basket case.

Not my favorite period of time in my life.

This time around, if I hadn’t seen that little blob swimming around on the ultrasound screen twice now I wouldn’t believe it. This pregnancy has been a dream. No sickness, no spotting, hardly any tiredness, I mean, if pregnancy was always this easy I’d have 20 kids.

But here’s the bad news. No symptoms = my crazy flag flying more wildly than usual…and as you know, that means that I’m way crazy. Like Jerry Springer style.

Let’s take a few weeks ago for example. I had a terrible, awful, no good, very bad dream about my baby (never to be repeated), so I woke up convinced that something was wrong.  Let me also add, that I have had several other complete meltdowns after bad dreams that never came true.

For example, one night when Zach and I were dating, I dreamed that we were at a bar and a guy was hitting on me and Zach didn’t protect me or stick up for me. I was furious in the dream and when I woke up I was still irate. I called him and told him about the dream and his “it’s only a dream” response wasn’t exactly what I was looking for. I wanted his heartfelt apologies for not being there for me in my dream and promises of protection in the future.

Imagine my disappointment!

So I did what any normal person would do, I was enraged and convinced myself that he hated my guts and would never love me.

Duh.

Shockingly Zach was not amused at my antics and he got mad right back at me. Needless to say, we had a terrible fight about my dream and his unsatisfactory response.

So, after my bad baby dream, I called the doctor and explained to the gal on the phone that I simply had to have an ultrasound (I left out the part about the dream- I’m not totally insane).  She asked why and I told her how different this pregnancy has been and how there is just no way that everything is OK when I feel so good.

Let me also interject that I’m 99% sure that I’m “red flagged” on their call system because I call so frequently. My number calls in and an alarm goes off…which I’m totally fine with, by the way. No shame people, no shame.

After I stated my case about how I simply must see the doctor, she said that she “would send a note back to the doctor and let him decide”…which is fine with me. My precious doctor knows that I’m a complete koo-koo hypochondriac, so I knew that he would have mercy on me.

And alas, he did. I got an appointment for that very afternoon. Score!

When I arrived at the office I waited for what seemed like forever and was finally called back. It was then that they told me that the doctor said to go ahead and give me an ultrasound and then he would see me in his office.

Yikes.

His office? It sounded cryptic.

Not shockingly my nervousness went up a notch or two.

Finally it was time for the ultrasound. My heart was pounding as she turned up the volume for me to hear the sweetest sound on earth, the familiar clip-clop of my sweetie’s heartbeat.  Then, that little blob gifted me with a little dance up and down just to let me know that he/she was just fine.

Life lesson? Sometimes being nuts is totally worth it. You should try it.

Afterwards the ultrasound tech led me back to my doctors personal office.

I patiently waited and when he walked in, that precious man gave me a hug and said, “Feel better now?”

He knows me well.

Then he sat down with the ultrasound pictures and pointed to the circle surrounding my little blob.  Then he said, “See this Molly? This is your uterus. It’s beautiful. Women would die for your uterus.”

Umm…OK. Good to know. I thought I wanted a perfect body, but a good uterus will do just fine thankyouverymuch.

Then he went on point out the umbilical cord, heart rate and other details of the scan and said that everything looked “great” and that I had absolutely nothing to worry about.  Then, he voiced magical words to my worried heart, “After 2 great ultrasounds your chance of miscarriage is less than 1%. Stop worrying and enjoy it! Only 20% of women do not have morning sickness, be thankful.”

Then he hugged me again and sent me on my way. I would like to think that he didn’t shake his head and roll his eyes as I left, but I wouldn’t blame him if he did.

But you, my friends know me. I’m crazy and I can’t help it!…maybe my “perfect” uterus is to blame. I mean, you gotta have a trade somewhere. Crazy head for a perfect uterus?

So blob baby is still doing great at 11 weeks pregnant.

How do I know? Well, duh, because I’m the proud owner of my very own Doppler.

That’s right. Every night that little blob baby and I have a chat as I listen to his/her heartbeat. It’s lovely really.

Ha! I always surprise you with my level of crazy don’t I?

Gotta keep you guessing!

I’m a former addict of The View on ABC.

I admit it.

But here’s the rub, it made me nuts.

Like, really nuts.

I would get fiery hot with anger every single day while watching.

Truth be told, it’s Joy who mainly drives me bananas with a little help from Whoopie.

But then, my BFF Elisabeth would pipe in and I’d remember why I watched.  Plus, Sherry is pretty great too (sometimes).

As all good things come to an end, so did my View watching.

It was too stressful, my blood pressure couldn’t handle it.

Then, last week on Facebook someone posted a clip from the View. I innocently clicked on it to see Bill O’Reilly (who, for the record, I’m not really into) have a knock down drag out with Joy and Whoopie.

Ridiculous, I tell you.

Watch it here.

I mean, come on people.  Let’s get it together. Can two disagreeing sides not have a freaking conversation without storming off?

Shameful.

In other news, how is Elisabeth so skinny after 3 kids? Seriously.

I think that by now we have established that I’m bananas over my Bitzy. Right?

She had me at hello.

Actually she had me from the second I saw “positive” flash on the Clearblue Easy test.

And correct me if I’m wrong, I think we’ve also established that I can be…well, a little nuts for lack of a better word.

Oh, you want a better word?

Coo-coo?

Crazyo?

Insane?

Whatever you wanna call it, I have embraced my crazy.

I want to shout from the hilltops, “I’m crazy and I like it.”

It’s very freeing, you should try it.

Anyway, I have learned that with great love, comes lots of worry.

All the “what-ifs” fill my heart and all the sudden I’m praying that an evil man hijacking a plane won’t venture off track, find the interstate and come barrelling down the highway, intentionally aiming for my Bitzy and me.

What? You mean your overactive imagination doesn’t occasionally come out to play?

Mine either.

Also, I’m terrified, T.E.R.R.F.I.E.D of SIDS. Still to this day, I’m a basket case about it.

Before my sweetie was born I was so consumed with all that could go wrong in pregnancy that I didn’t obsess about SIDS, in fact, I really didn’t know anything about it. Then, when we brought her home and laid her in the pack ‘n play beside our bed, I couldn’t sleep for fear that she would stop breathing. I was constantly up all night long checking on her.

After a week of no sleep, Zach banished her to the crib. Turns out, it was a great decision because my best friend, Angel Care Monitor, was there in case she stopped breathing.

Finally, I could sleep.

But then, I became obsessed with worry about the car seat, swing and stroller. There was no way for her breathing to be monitored in those contraptions…or was there?  In a fierce Google search to rival crazies everywhere I happened upon this divine invention…

The Respisense Breathing Monitor. This fabulous trinket attaches to the baby’s diaper and an alarm will sound if no breath is detected for 15 seconds.

Fabulous. Can I just tell you how fabulous this thing is?  It’s amazing. I recommend it to crazy mama’s everywhere.

But then, I became obsessed with the “why?” of SIDS.  Causes, etc.  Yes, I realize that people with degrees from Harvard are doing research, but Mr. Google along with my degree from Grey’s Anatomy did a bang up job on new advances in SIDS research.  Take that Harvard!  Well, we didn’t exactly discover the cause, but we did find a tool to help combat it!

A doctor in New Zealand (which ironcially is where my Respisense Monitor came from. It seems that my true people are in New Zealand), has declared that the cause of SIDS is found in the toxins of crib mattresses. So, he created a plastic bag of sorts to put over the mattress to keep the toxins at bay.

I mean, what’s another $39.99 for me to sleep at night???

I’m happy to report that all of my gear and I are happy in our crazy nest and Bitzy is safe and sound.

Now, did all of my devices save her life? Who knows. What I do know is that they made me less crazy than usual and I could sleep…and that is priceless.

Here’s to a “If you’re crazy and you know it clap your hands” kinda day!

It is no secret that I love Diet Coke. (Need a reminder? Read it here and here).

I have gone to great lengths in my day to acquire the quench of my fizzy friend.

In college I spent 6 weeks in Europe and I missed the cold fizz of DC. Sure they had fizzy water, but that seems so odd to me. What’s wrong with regular water? Why mess it up with fizz?  Fizz should be reserved for yummy syrupy goodness of soda. No? One of these days I’m going to start some kind of foundation to uplift and protect fizz. I’m scared to death that the world will soon learn that it’s burning holes in stomachs everywhere and their going to take it away. Then what will I drink? Will I be forced to drink fizzy water? No thanks.

I digress.

The following story details true events that happened on Wednesday, September 15th at 9:30am.

I work in the office Monday-Wednesday and as my reward I normally go through the drive thru at McDonald’s on those days for a cold fizzy Diet Coke. I mean, don’t you reward yourself for going to work? No? Well you totally should. It always makes any day better.

So, I dropped off my Bitzy with her Lolly and ventured to those familiar golden arches.

There were several cars in front of me, but nothing too overwhelming. It wasn’t like I was there at 12:00pm when all the hungry vultures come and prey upon Ronald McDonald for their 1,000 calorie cheeseburgers.

I did wait for quite awhile to order, the line was moving very slowly. But, it was a beautiful day, I wasn’t upset at all. I was in my happy place.

So here I go, I finally ordered my Diet Coke and noticed their new oatmeal, (I love oatmeal, remember? Read here), and I could get oatmeal, a little baby milk and apples all in a Happy Meal. So, I ordered my Happy Meal with a toy for a girl under 3 and large Diet and a large ice water (gotta balance out the fizz, ya know).

And then I waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Finally, I made it up to the window to get my food. As I looked into the window I did not see a single soul.

The minutes clicked by and I didn’t see or hear anyone. I mean, that’s weird, right?

Finally, I see two young Hispanic women scrambling around.  One of them hands me my drinks, including the milk.

Then, she disappears again for several more minutes.

By now, we’re inching past 15 minutes in the drive-thru, just for the record.

As I’m innocently checking my email on my phone and listening to the radio, the car behind me begins blowing her horn. I look in my rear view mirror and chuckle. I remember thinking, “People are so crazy sometimes.”

Ahem, little did I know how crazy people really are.

Then, I see this white haired, crazed woman barreling toward my SUV wagging her finger. She then, squeezed herself between my car window and the drive-thru all the while yelling, “Pull up. People are waiting, what did you order anyway?”  Then she proceeds to yell into the drive-thru window (to no one in particular), “Give me my 2 sweet teas. I’m gonna be late for work, this is taking forever.”

After I picked up my jaw from the floor board I frantically searched for Candid Camera or Punked to come over and save me. Surely this wasn’t really happening? Except it was.

It so was.

Then, crazyo turns to me and says, “I told you to pull up, I’ve gotta go to work.” Then she yells again at no one in particular, “Listen to me, give me my sweet teas.”

Miraculously, the 2 gals appear and look at me with a helpless look in their eyes. I’m fairly certain that their English was rusty at best, so they were looking at me for help. What in the heck was I gonna do? I mean, give me my freaking oatmeal and I’ll be on my way and, 0h yeah, while your at it, get crazyo’s sweet teas, she’s gotta go to work.

Here’s the part of the story where I temporarily lost my mind.

The poor girl attempts to hand me my Happy Meal box as Crazyo reached for it. I have no idea what she would have done with it. For all I know she would have handed it to me, but who’s to know since I yelled, “Don’t touch my food, don’t touch my food, I don’t want you touching my food!”

I mean, for one thing my food was in a cardboard red box. It’s not like her crazy germs would have transferred on my food. Secondly, who cares if she touched it?

But alas, I was passionate about my red cardboard box. I paid $2.99 for it after all.

I’m going to blame shock. The whole experience was a little odd. Can I get a crazy pass?

Thankfully, crazyo moved aside, and I got my food. As I drove away I heard her yelling, “Hurry up. Do you understand me? Give my sweet teas!”

As I opened up my hard fought Happy Meal I ended up with yucky, soggy oatmeal, no apples, 2 milks and a toy for  boy over 3. But hey, the bright side is that I didn’t die by crazyos hands. I could totally see her carrying a concealed weapon, for real.

Right?

Plus, I’m still holding on to hope that I’ll see myself on Punked one of these days.

I’m a having a bit of writer’s block today. Not sure why.

It’s probably hormones. I like to blame everything on hormones.

Sad?  Hormones.

Happy? Hormones.

Crazy? Definitely hormones.

Anyway, me and my kooky coo hormones don’t know what to write about.

So, let’s have a bit of stream of consciousness, shall we? I think we’ve established that I’m a nutjob, so why not solidify that theory? Here’s what’s happening in my brain as I live and breathe at this moment.

I want a Diet Dr. Pepper. A big beautiful 32 ounces DDP. I woke up thinking about it and now over 13 hours later I’m still thinking about it.  I can’t cave now. This day 5 after all. I’m looking forward to my icing and show tune party that Chelsey is throwing me. If I drink one then I won’t get my vat of icing.

Icing always wins.

Daisy drives me bananas. She’s been trying to trick me into loving her by being so great with my Bitzy, but I’m on to her. She’s so sneaky…and stinky. Phew. When is Zach’s going to give her bath and find her a new place to live?

I wonder if Jon and Kate ever talk anymore?

I don’t wanna Shred tonight. I’ve been dreading it all day. Besides that fact that I may very well be allergic to working out, Jillian drives me completely nuts.

Whenever I blow up and ship Daisy off to a farm somewhere can Jillian go too? They would probably love eachother.

I want a piece of coconut cream pie. Wait, make that chocolate. No, make it banana cream. Never mind, I want banana pudding. Scratch it, can I have a sampler plate of everything?

I’m hungry.

I’m always hungry.

Why do I have a food obsession?

I miss my Bitzy.

Snap out it crazy0. The kid needs sleep. Leave her alone and stop creeping into her room to see if she’s breathing.

Do I need medication? Why I am so crazy?

I really need to organize my closets and drawers. I cannot find anything. Or, I could spend yet another Saturday playing with my sweet Bitzy and kissing on Zach..hmmm….family wins every.single.time.

I’ll reorganize when I’m pregnant again. Nesting is a real thing after all.

I dread football season. Wait. Football season means cheerleading uniforms for Bitzy Seeing this little bundle in a cheerleading uniform is seriously cute.  Fine, football season can last 2 weeks and then I want it to go away.

I wanna bring back all the old sayings from the 90′s. Like “da bomb”,”mac daddy”, “NOT”, “Word to yo mother brother”, “Psych” , “Take a chill pill” etc. I never stopped saying these phrases because I’m so cool, clearly. I wonder how I can start the revolution to bring them back.

Speaking of, I’m hungry.

I really, really, really want some brownie batter.  I’m sick of staring at a bowl of half eaten watermelon. Brownie batter sounds better more appetizing.

Pamela Anderson is ridiculous.

I really need to read Fox News to see what’s happening in the world.

Nah, what’s Sandy up to? People.com here we go.

I like water aerobios. I wonder if the old ladies and me can get fit in the pool.

Zach’s new video game is terrible.

At least he’s home being a big ole dork playing a game instead of at a bar drinking.

I love my Zach.

I’m sleepy. Why don’t I ever sleep anymore?

I’m hungry.

Sleepy.

Hungry.

Crazy.

PS: I would never ship Daisy off to a farm. Zach would never allow it….HA.