Now..we all know that crazy people plan the best parties and that I have mad kitchen skills. I am Betty Fucking Crocker. Never mind that when I put the apron on my daughter runs screaming from the house and my boyfriend flat out ignores me and retreats to the upstairs. They have learned. They know that what is about to ensue will be traumatic, messy, dysfunctional, and quite possibly painful. They know that I will become a mad fucking crazy emotional trainwreck of OCD. I will revert to domestic fucking dictator. I will swear. I will break something. I will probably throw said something first. I will over cook, over bake, and over feed. I will stuff our kitchen with edibles..that no one is allowed to look at...let alone eat.
There is right now...4 double batches of Spinach Pasta Salad, 2 batches of Fruit Dip, 2 batches of Mustard Pretzel Dip, 5 loaves of French Bread, 2 pounds of homemade Garlic Dill Butter, and platter upon heaping platter of fresh fruit. Not to mention the freezer full of Punch. This is..quite literally..enough to feed 2 small armies and a gaggle of children. I don't know what is wrong with me....except that I am utterly exhausted.
Oh and I forgot to mention the entire day that I spent CRAFTING the baby gift. Jesus Crickets...I remember why I DON'T craft. Not only am I not good at it...it ceases to be enjoyable for me after about the first 15
So..there you have it. I still have to make final preparations of everything tomorrow, print off the word search game thingy, wrap the gift, and decorate. Remind me again why I volunteered for this? And for those of you out there who might be considering having a baby....I will buy you the nicest bestest most amazing shit...if you promise to ask someone else to plan and execute your celebration. For serious.
If you don't hear from me by Sunday..send a search party. Make sure they know it's BYOB.
XOX
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