The sun came up this morning.  I almost expected it to never rise again after Friday, but there it is every morning, blinding my already puffy eyes.  Yesterday at the grocery store, the people around me seemed nonchalant, if not downright happy, and all I wanted to do was scream at them, “HOW CAN YOU ALL JUST GO ON LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED! Can’t you see that I’m dying on the inside?!”

But I live in Tennessee, so I guess to most people around me, nothing significant has happened. They don’t know that I, and the millions of others in Cardinals Nation, have lost the love of our lives.

On Friday, we learned that Albert Pujols, arguably the greatest baseball player of my generation, was leaving us for the equivalent of a tall blonde with perky boobs and, oh right, $254 million. Goodbye St. Louis, hello sunny and warm LA.  As much as I’m relieved that he didn’t leave us for the Chicago Cubs, maybe it would hurt less if he were leaving us for someone hideously ugly.  Like Siberia. Yes I know there isn’t a baseball team in Siberia, THAT ISN’T THE POINT, OKAY?!

It just really hurts, you know?  To think you know someone and to find out that they aren’t who you thought they were…this is going to take some time to get over. I thought that we would be together forever, building our life and creating memories and winning more World Series together.  I thought that one day we’d build him a statue to stand near the one we built for Stan the Man Musial. And now for it all to just end?  WE LOVED HIM and now we know that he just didn’t love us the same way.  He’s just like the rest of them, chasing money.

Really, I should have seen the signs, but I couldn’t allow myself to ever imagine that our relationship would end.  When discussion of our relationship was put on hold in the spring, that’s when I should have known. Now I’m learning that he didn’t treat us with as much respect as we wanted and deserved.   Maybe he’s not as deserving as the pedestal where we as Cardinals Nation placed him, but my heart doesn’t understand this yet.

So for today, I want to wallow in my own misery of Albert Pujols leaving us. Please excuse me while I put on some PJs, grab a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, and listen to Pearl Jam’s Black on repeat.

“I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life,
I know you’ll be a sun in somebody else’s sky, but why
Why, why can’t it be, can’t it be mine”

Why? Only 254 million reasons why.

So first it was the wah-gina injury which left me bruised, then it was my leaking yellow goo boob.  The image I must conjure in your head!  You must all thinking, “what a babe!”

Raur!

All of my girl parts appear to be JUST FINE, which is excellent news.  The bad news is that being nervous all day gave me gas and now my belly is distended and uncomfortable.  Bruised, leaky, and distended.  If you didn’t think I was a babe before, surely now you do.

The doctor thought that it was not unusual for someone just two months post breastfeeding babies back to back to have some discharge.  She did not feel any lumps so she sent me on my merry (and relieved) way.

Thanks to you all for your encouraging words, I thought about them as I sat in my hospital gown, open to the back, waiting and waiting and waiting for what seemed like hours.   You ALL helped me. 

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Airports make me irrationally nervous. 

First there’s the issue of POSSIBILITY that my boarding pass, ID, wallet, and carry on baggage could suddenly evaporate into thin air.  Every few seconds, I obsessively check to get visual confirmation that some unknown force has not suddenly taken my valuable possessions and made it’s way to Tijuana.

Then there’s my sudden inability to understand the English language rendering me completely unable to follow directions for getting in line to board the plane and instead of lining up in the B 31-60 line, I’m all standing like a fool in the A 1-30 line while everyone else is all “what’s that woman doing in our line” and then I’m all embarrassed and foolishly bumping into people as I try to get out of line and everyone is staring at me like I’m some kind of wart on society.

I worry that some ninja laptop thief is going to sprint full speed up to me, swipe my laptop and disappear into a crowd of people, while I clumsily chase after the person yelling for help and while onlookers smirk at my misfortune.

Missing my plane while I’m in the bathroom is another thing that freaks me out, so instead of going pee, I just hold it.  And then I won’t drink water because I don’t want to have to pee even worse than I already do.

Luckily NONE of the above things ACTUALLY happened…except for holding my pee, OBVIOUSLY I didn’t want to miss my plane that would be taking off in 2 hours.  DUH.

But one of my fears is unknowingly packing something the TSA has banned, like by some magical force I could accidentally pack a nuclear torpedo in my carry-on.  I mean, I’m already nervous about not following the directions of putting my carry-on items in the bins properly or accidentally setting off the metal detector because I forgot to remove my belt, I certainly don’t want to draw attention to myself for having my stash of weapons of mass destruction detected.

So when the TSA agent told me they were going to have to open my bag and search it, I tried to act all nonchalant, but really I was scared to death they’d find the drugs/weapons/sex toys. 

Instead they found a pocketknife.  In my laptop bag.  That I had packed all by myself.  This wee pocketknife suddenly looked like a machete.

The TSA agent hefted it out of the bag and my jaw dropped to the floor, my face burned red, and I started stuttering and begging for mercy.

“Uh, uh…I, uh, don’t, uh, even KNOW how that got in my bag.  Please, mister, have mercy on my soul!  I have two small children at home.  Don’t send me to prison!  I’m not a terrorist!!”  (I didn’t really say the last four sentences, I just added them for effect.)

He was kind and told me that we wouldn’t have to call my husband to bail me out of jail…this time.

And that’s how I narrowly escaped being arrested and sent to clink to become someone’s bitch.