That sucked.

Back when I was first pregnant with the tWIPs, I stopped into Destination Maternity to pick up a couple camis I knew I would need eventually for work (hello, sale!). Anyway, if you've never shopped at a maternity store, you should know that when you check out they ask you all sorts of questions like your address, due date, mother's maiden name, social security number, favorite ice cream flavor, etc. I exaggerate a bit, but it is rather interrogational, no?

This information arms them to put you on all sorts of ridiculous mailing lists to receive coupons, samples and other useless mail throughout your 9 month incubation stage. Very tricksy, indeed.

Anyway, I had sort of completely forgotten about it until the other day when I arrived home.

When I arrived home and there was the congratulatory "one month from your due date" free can of Enfamil on my doorstep.

When I arrived home and was instantly filled with rage.

I've held my shit together pretty well considering the circumstances. When I wrote my initial blog post about the tWIPs I meant every single word I typed. Truly. I have honest to peaches had nothing but total and complete peace about this whole thing since the moment it happened. Sure, I was sad and heartbroken, but I knew deep down that whether or not I liked it or understood it, it was something that happened to me. For a reason. (A reason I will never understand, but that's out of my hands.) I made my peace with my Maker and carried on.

But back to the Enfamil.

Had others not been with  me the moment my feet hit the doorstep, I can promise you one thing: I would have picked up that can and hurled it through the nearest window with all the strength of Thor. And then I probably would have found it, picked it back up, and jumped up and down on it until it was smashed to complete smithereens. And then I would have picked up the smithereens and flushed them down the toilet with a lighted match and some butane.

I think it's probably safe to say I never went through the "anger" stage of the grieving process back in September.

This morning, I drove to work by myself. I screamed the whole way there at the top of my lungs. I pounded on my steering wheel (only at the stoplights...I promise I was safe) and turned my music up really, really loud. I'm pretty sure anyone that passed me was certain I was driving myself to the loony bin.


I guess you never know what the single drop will be that overflows your cup of crazy. For me, it was a free can of Enfamil. The good news is that I think I've officially completed all the stages of grief. We're good.