The first-born, second-born joke is bad. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Chuckle all you want Bud, oh worker of a job 8-5, but the wedding planning, waitressing, blogging, email for work, email for personal, phone calls up the chute and howling dogs are making me feel a little like my head is going to explode. Today I woke up late and so am trying to gain back those two hours by working on both our desktop and laptop at the same time. I am responding to a work email and find myself g-chatting Georgia, "I would be happy to schedule a consultation," and then realize she will have no idea why I chose to write her that, when we are talking about what size I am in wedding dresses. No, no, between an 8-10, no sorry, your missing dog! Saturday we go back to the hotel to sign the actual contract, promise our first born in deposit, (second born is the final payment), and discuss a few more catering details. Monday I meet with the photographer over coffee which is JUST WHAT I NEED right now and then Tuesday, the florist. Speaking of coffee? I am drinking so much recently that I shake a little sometimes at work. Shake an entire glass of ice-cold water all over a guy at someone else's table. She can thank me later for the lack of any kind of tip. But a small secret before you pull out your tiny violin and play for me (you know who you are!). I do enjoy some of this. I like the bustling around, getting ready for a big party, even if it does mean I will be locked down for the rest of my life. The rest. Of. My natural life.