Little Woman Interrupted

This is a scholarly discourse on Pie and where the hell I've been.

I'm still alive and luxuriating from the intermission of blogging and everything else that doesn't absolutely require a piece of me. That doesn't include the husband or the three year old. They get theirs, believe me...

I remember Me Time prior to being a Mom. It was called every-second-of-the-day and I took it for granted because the "Me Pie" was more than enough. There was also more money to play with as I recall, but I digress.

MMA was afraid you might think he did something sinister to prevent me from blogging this long and has beseeched me to resume, "the sooner the better," he said. With an overly needy child in command of the house (who somehow manages to stay up every night until just minutes before we collapse in bed) it seems my husband learns most of what he knows about my day the same way you do. And he misses my alter ego online.

Well, for nigh a month now (and can you tell I'm fresh off a corset book?) I've been too tired to do much more than throw an occasional load of clothes in the wash and cook a simple meal. I find myself moodier than ever and reclusive. I just want to sleep and watch Dancing with the B-listers and reality show Stars and eat popcorn followed by a bowl of Blue Bell ice cream. (And shamefully, I've even been too tired for tricks and more than once paid full price when I knew a deal was within arms reach if I had, but a little more effort to put forth...) This is me, flailing. And hoarding my piece of the pie.

And watching my belly "bloom" (as my British friend puts it) and my face break out doesn't help me feel particularly outgoing. But OK, breaks over, I'm ready to shine again.

I will share my good news with you tomorrow...(feigned sigh) if I can manage the strength...

I will say this: sometimes its good to indulge one's self, but in general, with pie, sharing is better. And the more the merrier.