Not Me! Monday

I had too many "Not Me!" moments this past week to keep silent about... So, seeing this on another blog, I decided to jump on the bandwagon, 'fess up and come clean...I am first to admit -no perfection in this Mama!

I most certainly did not drop my (unplugged) hair dryer into the toilet, fish it out, shake it out, lay it out to dry, and then call my husband to see if he thought it was safe if I attempted to turn it on and "see" if it worked. No, I did not!

I did not ask a hospital staff member, who is studying here from India, if she enjoyed eating turkey over Thanksgiving. I did not forget the fact that she would likely be vegetarian. She did not think I was the biggest airhead. I did not try to dig myself out of that hole by acting like I knew that and assuming they would cook traditional Thanksgiving side dishes. And she did not then roll her eyes and tell me they cooked Indian food. Duh.

I did not use dental floss while constructing my Christmas decorations because I didn't have any floral wire or string. At least they smell minty-fresh.

I did not feel utter pride and joy when I helped to solve several nurses' computer IT issues with the knowledge from my job at HP...only because I could do something else productive besides laying here.

I have not avoided deciding on a middle name for my soon-to-be-born son. I am not scared to death of the permanence of a name and that you can't take him home and change his name two weeks later like you can with a pet. (And we did not wait until Madison was a mere 4 days old to name her, only because the Birth Certificate representative gave us an ultimatum.) No, not me.

I do not feel guilty for eating old pizza for three days in a row.

I certainly did not start to feel like my hospital room is my "house" and get up from my bed one night before bedtime to "lock my front door". (Um, you can't do that in a hospital...)

And I did not refer to my hospital room as my "hotel room" several times.

I did not suggest to the nurses that our hospital wrist bands should come in hot pink. Or that instead of putting decorations on the outside of bedrest patients' doors, perhaps they should put them on the inside of our rooms, where we can actually see them.

I did not immediately hang up without leaving a voicemail explaining that it was my one year old who called a former manager's office # at HP while she was playing with my phone yesterday.

Finally, I certainly do NOT feel ashamed for anything I write in this blog. It's my blog, right? Honestly!

No way! Not me!