Today is my 28th birthday and Eric and I are thrilled to announce that we are expecting our second baby! Baby #2 is due April 2016.

Yay for sex and babies!

But enough about the sweet stuff. Let’s get to the fun part of the blog where I complain about my life even though I have nothing to complain about.

Because I live with my parents.

Again.

With my husband.

And a toddler.

While I’m pregnant.

UGHHHHHHHHH.

We sold our house last month because we needed more space for baby #2. We weren’t able to find a new house by the time the new buyers moved in…so we moved in with my parents. AGAIN, PEOPLE. If you recall, we lived with my parents last time I was pregnant after we sold Eric’s house.

Apparently, we don’t learn from our mistakes.

And I am not handling it with grace.

The first night we stayed there, I cried over my plate of turkey and mashed potatoes at dinner and I haven’t stopped crying since. You can blame it on the pregnancy hormones, but I blame it on the fact that I’ve missed several episodes of Keeping Up with the Kardashians because we don’t have cable in our bedroom, and because I’m 90% sure the house is 100% haunted.

Listen, I know that I am complaining about living in a beautiful 10,000 square foot house and I’m grateful my parents let us live with them and I’m lucky that we have a place to go and BLAH BLAH BLAH. I DON’T CARE. IT’S MY BIRTHDAY AND I CAN COMPLAIN ABOUT WHATEVER I WANT.

Living with my parents is the worst, but not because of my parents. They are wonderful and gracious and probably reading this blog so I’m afraid they will ground me if I say otherwise.

Can they ground me now that I am under their roof again? I’m unclear of the new rules, but I don’t want to test it.

The truth is that living with my parents is the worst because I’m an adult (ish) and I have my own family so their house no longer feels like my home. It’s an odd realization when the house you grew up in no longer feels like home. Now it just reminds me of how fat I was when I see all my old homecoming dresses in my childhood closet.

Like, ew. What was I thinking with that cap sleeve satin mess? Did I think cap sleeves would made my arms look thinner? Because they didn’t.

But living with my parents is only temporary and we’ll get through it. Each day is getting a little better and the ghosts are friendly like Casper. Eric and I purchased our next family home this weekend and we move in December. Until then, stay tuned for tales of getting kicked out of my parents’ house because I wrote a rude blog about living with them.

It’s my birthday and I can do what I want.

Ah crap, I’m definitely going to get grounded for this.

 

xoxox,

The birthday betch