Today I was in Home Depot looking at bathroom light options. I snapped a shot of one with my cell phone to send it to Hubby, something we've done a dozen times before. An employee, standing high up on a ladder, saw me take the photo and scolded me twice in an authoritarian voice in front of another customer. He said, 'No pictures in our store, Miss!' I couldn't believe how quickly this pushed me to an edge. I was about to tell him to go fuck himself very loudly, but somehow managed to walk away instead. I walked right out of that store and over to Rona. I fucking hate Home Depot! I almost demanded to speak to the manager, but I had a quick flash of me sailing right over the 'crazy pregnant lady' edge at the Customer Service counter and not being able to make it back to Sanity Land.
It was a close call.
This week I had some dramatic moments about the painters' work at our house. Hubby was concerned at how freaked out I became. We have now clarified that Hubby's only true option in these scenarios is to calmly and bravely put his arm around me and comfort me. It is unwise for him to do anything else. Hubby admitted to me later that he was scared to come close to me because I was so freaky standing there in the bathroom, blow drying my hair, crying about how I just wanted the baby's room to look a certain way. (The painters had been too enthusiastic with painting trim. They painted over the already painted trim in the baby's room. Needless to say, it was no longer the 'right' colour. They weren't even supposed to touch that room!)