not quite as planned

{Photo credit to my MIL for this beachy gem}

Well, I didn't get my crepe. What began as a wonderful beach day ended with me throwing up all the way home. Maybe it was a stomach bug, or maybe it was the prescription headache medication I took on an empty stomach that morning to stick it to the Headache Demon.

(And I'm not pregnant. I sent Josh to the store that night to pick up an overly priced test just so I could be sure. Goodness, while I am so, so grateful for my body and for all the miracles that come from pregnancy, my soul isn't ready yet to undergo that adventure again.)

So I've been doing my best to recover and care for the babe and fold laundry so that we can jet to Denver Saturday morning at 6 a.m. (What I was thinking for booking that particular flight, I can't be sure. It will either work out splendidly--especially since Josh will be with us this time--or it will be a living nightmare.)

I want to write about everything I've been feeling about my brother leaving for Brazil for two whole years, but I think I've been holding back on really processing those emotions. And yes, I have yet to take and post Asher's 11-month pictures. Maybe I can slip that in among packing, mopping the kitchen, drinking my ginger ale, and shopping for a new skirt to wear on Sunday.

Maybe. But let us not forget the lesson that the beach crepes taught: Even when you desperately want a melty, Nutella-y, banana-y mess of beachy goodness, sometimes you throw up on the highway instead.