Tales of postpartum and the indian giver.

So, tomorrow is romantical awareness day, and to say we celebrated this year perfectly would be putting it lightly. The hubs and I spent yesterday lighting candles, strategically placing rose petals around the house, playing some barry white, and errr, getting on each other's nerves. We did all of those things, except three of them. Can you guess...come on, guess!

The hubs, like most men (which is what I tell myself, righhhtt!?) is not, how you say, ummm, Lance Romance. I mean he tries, and I will give him credit that he does try, but it's just not his forte.

So while we were busy doing all of the above activities, except the first three (did you get it right?! You're so smart!), the hubs decided to finish off the last of the delicious butterscotch pudding that I, depressingly enough, was contemplating eating....for breakfast. So as he began to comment on how good it was, I said, "oooh save some for me!?". Then I got the deer in headlights, WTF did you just say, I'm in trouble, dammit, look from him as the last spoonful entered his mouth.

(Just so you are aware, as I write this I do realize how ridiculous I sound, and I'm about to get more ridiculouserrr, so prepare.)

In my postpartum state (how long do you think I can use this excuse?), I of course, got upset. Postpartum ladies do some craaaazzzyyy shit! Like cry at radio commercials (really, radio ones! LAME), have full on freak out sessions when....well anytime actually, and laugh hysterically at nothing at all like a mental patient. On top of all that we have the ability to interchange these three emotions within a 40 second time period. It's a talent.

So back to the pudding episode. I spent about five minutes experiencing all three of the emotions listed above, when my romantical unaware hubs ran to the bedroom and presented me with an amazing hand written card and a heart shaped box of chocolates. Everyone knows that sugar is like postpartum medication (how long do you think I can use this excuse?). Well I was pleased, and I forgave the poor guy for eating the pudding (which again I realize how stupid I sound).

Fast forward to today, in which I came home for lunch, and was searching to calm the postpartum beast within. I reached for my romantical, thoughtful, sincere box of chocolates, and whaaaaa!!!??? They were gone! No, not the box. The box was still there and intact, but the contents were not.

I'm sure at this point you can only imagine the shit storm that fell over this place. All three emotions were put on blast, and at this point I was a postpartum junkie without her medication. I feel like maybe I looked a little like a jacked up pterodactyl. Just a little.

The indian giver did not realize at the time he was savoring MY gift, yeah the gift he gave to me, that he was also swallowing a giant guilt trip. Who knew?!

I returned to work to realize how ridiculous my actions had been, and how perhaps my hormones got the best of me, when realistically it is just chocolate and pudding. But, if indian giving is the new thing in my house, I can't wait to give the hubs these for his birthday. Oh, those aren't your size, style, or color...here let me help you with those! Karma.

Happy romantical awareness day ya'll!