While pregnant everyone, including strangers, had advice for me. Among the list was: Don’t give him a paci he will get nipple confusion, don’t eat spicy food it will come out in your breast milk, don’t let them sleep in your bed they will never leave, blah, blah and blah.

Everything seemed overwhelming enough, I didn’t need the added stress of the “do’s and don’ts” of parenting. About a week after baby was born, Husband and I had to tell our family and friends to just let us figure it out and if we needed advice, we would ask. Some of the advice admittedly turned out to be true, particularly the sleeping in the bed bit.

I have to admit, I was (and maybe still am) the one who didn’t want him sleeping in his own room. First off, I would have never been able to sleep when he was a baby if he wasn’t in my room. Even then, I slept with one eye open and his bassinet was within arms reach. Plus since Husband and I worked so hard to get him on this earth, that kid was never leaving my sight. After three months, Husband said it was time to let him go in his own room. After he went to sleep, I would sometimes sneak Baby back in the room. Crazy? Maybe just a little.

Fast forward to now. I have a toddler who request’s ‘Momma’s Bed’ every night, and I have to tell you: it is hard to say no. He likes to cuddle and read books, which I love. However once he is asleep, he frails his arms and legs in the air and often hits me in the head. He also likes to sleep sideways on a king bed, shared with a man who is 6’5”, and then there is me. I am lucky to get a small section in the corner. Husband has given up the battle at this point; he knows I am just as attached to Sebastian as he is to me.

If I do put him in his bed after he falls asleep, he often wakes in the middle of the night and tries to sneak back into our room. Most times he is too tired to actually make it, and I find him in the morning either on the floor with his blanket or hanging off his bed.

I figure one day he will be too cool to hang out with me, and I will be lucky to even get a hug. So in the meantime, who cares if he sleeps with his momma! But before you pass judgment, know that I fully intend on paying his therapy bills in his 30’s due to his co-dependencies.

I recently saw a commercial, which shows a man going to Burger King at 2:30 am because his pregnant wife had her first craving. Sorry Whopper, you were not my first craving but it was something equally bad for you…. Doritos. I have a similar craving story, but Husband was not near as patient with me as the man in the commercial. Does that man even exist? Anyway, I couldn’t believe how this little crisp with powdered fake cheese had such a hold on me.

It was Christmas night when my first Dorito craving hit. The winters in Chicago can be pretty brutal and this one was no exception. We were snuggled on the couch watching a movie when I turn to Husband and say, “I have to have Doritos.” He looked at me but didn’t speak. I followed up, “No like now, let’s go!” Frustrated, he turned to look out the window and pointed, “Look it is snowing outside and it’s Christmas, no one is open.” “We will find someone open, now let’s go,” I demand. At that point he didn’t try to argue because you can’t argue with crazy, right? He knew I was on another Holly mission and no one could stop me.

Luckily living in the city you can walk anywhere you need to go. We bundled up and headed to the Walgreens a block away. “Damn it, they closed an hour ago,” I yell throwing my arms in the air. Husband looks at me, “Sorry honey, you will just have to wait until tomorrow.” I explain how that is not going to happen and we need to continue on our search.

We move on to the grocery store another two blocks away. Closed also! WTF, who do I have to sleep with around here to get some freakin’ Doritos? Husband looks at me with defeat written all over his face. I tell him we will just have to walk home and get the car. Now he is pissed. He tries some logic, “Now you are being ridiculous, driving in this weather just for Doritos?” Still didn’t work, I start marching home.

At the time we lived in a high rise, so before I got too dramatic by getting the car I ask the doorman, “Hey, what’s a preggo gotta do to get some Doritos in this city?” After he realized I was serious he replied, “Go to the Seven Eleven around the corner, he will be open.” Eureka! I waddle toward the door as Husband follows. We get there just as he is about to close for the night. Thank you Jesus! I buy several bags and tell the clerk he saved Christmas. Not sure if he knew what I meant, but I did.

Once we got home, I nearly finished the whole bag. I let Husband have a few, but guarded the bag as if it were my last meal. Husband eventually forgave me, but in the end he got the last laugh. Later that night I paid for being such a diva as the Doritos got the best of me. I will spare you the details. No more powered fake cheese for me.

Normally I am a pretty grounded person. I hold together nicely and rise to the occasion when faced with adversity. This has always been my strength. Ever since my son was born, this quality doesn’t apply when he gets sick. I literally turn into a maniac with a first class ticket to crazy town.

The first time my son was ill, we were on a trip to middle of nowhere, Texas for a friend’s wedding. I have family there so it was the perfect trip to combine family & friend time. My son, who was three months old at the time, started off the day with a minor cough. No big deal right? WRONG. Turns out he had croup, which sounds much worse than it is, but nonetheless, scary.

We leave the wedding and I get a call from my sister’s house, which by the way was a 45 min drive away, that something was wrong. She of course is trying to be calm because she knows as a new mom, I was on the verge of a freak out. I can hear my sweet angel in the background gasping for breath and whining. The drive was miserable and as soon as we got there, I b-lined it for the bathroom where she had him standing in the steam.

Meanwhile, Husband is trying to calm me down as I was sobbing uncontrollably. He then tells me, “It’s just the cat, and he’s allergic.”

I lose it. Why is it that men always seem to downplay the situation, and instantly become a doctor? I know woman can be drama, but this is MY son we are talking about here. Suddenly his participation in creating my son didn’t count.

We finally get to the hospital ER, where even the staff was telling me to calm down. Obviously everything turned out OK, but my poor family and husband for witnessing the wrath of the Holly. I know it only makes things worse, but I can’t be the only woman out there like this right? Sincerely, Mrs. Crazy Pants.