Military Ball Recap- AKA The Post You've All Been Waiting For But *Spoiler Alert* I Am Still Pregnant

Well, Friday was a busy day. I was anticipating that Second Baby and Jesus would recognize the stars-alignment-babysitter-situation that happened Friday evening and just KNEW that I would go into labor before the ball and conveniently be excused early. So I did a lot more nesting around the house (I know, what else could I possibly have left to do?!), and once Steve got home from work, I headed to the commissary solo to pick up a *few* things that we were sort of running low on. (Meaning: we did not have 3 extras hanging out at the house as back-ups) About an hour and $150 later (so much for my leeetle shopping trip), I was headed back home to frantically wash my hair and skedaddle to my hair appointment.

The hair appointment was interesting (as my hair appointments usually are). The stylist started off by blow-drying my hair into a frizzy oblivion (a major curly-hair no-no) and then TEASED the top of it. My hair is so big naturally that I didn't see why teasing was necessary, but I think she is a fan of the bump look, so maybe that's what she was going for. Unfortunately for you, I did not have the foresight to photograph this process, although I see that now as a missed opportunity for a major laugh. My apologies.

Once she was finished with my hair, I have to admit that it is was the best updo I've had to date. Keep in mind that I've had a total of maybe four updos in my life, each one being slightly better than the one proceeding it. (We started off with the first updo at senior prom and it was truly gag-worthy, so count your blessings that I don't have access to those pictures.) While this wasn't what I was dreaming of my hair to look like, it was an improvement, so I guess I can't complain too much. She had to tone down "the bump" at my request, and by the time it was all said and done, she had shoved approximately 3,468,972 bobby pins into my scalp.

My best friend from high school came up to watch Sam for me and spend the night, so I was clearly hoping that labor was imminent. But after racing home from the hair appointment (after a quick trip to Target to buy a fake wedding ring and a quick trip to the PX for other nesting-type needs- shut up), I had no time left to cut into the fresh pineapple that I'd purchased at the commissary earlier in the day. Luckily Brittany is one smart cookie and did not need me to explain anything at all to her concerning Sam's care, so Steve and I hurried out shortly after she arrived. This was after she helped me apply eyeliner as I am still very stupid when it comes to putting on any makeup besides mascara. (And I wouldn't be too surprised if I've been doing that wrong all along too.)

We got to the ball and immediately got in line to get a drink at the bar. After shaking a few hands and listening to Steve and other soldiers talk about Army stuff, I was pretty convinced that one glass of wine was not going to do me in. In fact, I felt it might be beneficial for my sanity to have a drink before we got sucked into the actual ball. But lo and behold, Jesus was all set to stop my fun when he had someone post a gigantic sign at the bar stating, "DRINKING ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES PRIOR TO CONCEPTION OR WHILE PREGNANT CAN CAUSE SERIOUS BIRTH DEFECTS."  Yes, thank you for the reminder. When the bartender asked me what I wanted, I told her that I couldn't have anything and she looked confused. Then I looked at my stomach, then back at her, and she asked me if I'd prefer a Coke. No woman, I don't want a $3 coke. I wanted some WINE and I would even settle for whatever nasty liquor that Steve was drinking, but instead I sipped on some water and hoped that someone up there was keeping track of how many gold stars I was earning.

We stood around for what felt like forever and then finally got to go into the ball. No receiving line or pictures this time, which pointed to the beginning of the lameness of the evening.

The ball was decorated very nicely, I'll give them that. We didn't have assigned seating (thank the LORD in heaven above) and got to sit with nice people who didn't want to talk Army all night. This ball was buffet-style though, which turned out to be pretty awful when something like 400 people are trying to squeeze around one little line of tables to serve themselves. (Waiting until bedtime to eat dinner didn't help the frantic-ness of everyone scrambling to get in line either.) Wanna see what a $30 dinner looks like?

Green beans, potatoes, dried up chicken, and some salad. They were also offering a mystery meat, but I thought it best to pass on that and get a piece of bread instead. But get this- NO BREAD. Who serves dinner with no bread? I couldn't get over that part. Like the giant pregnant lady needs extra carbs, but still. That just seems like a standard part of dinner to me.

Please excuse the terrible quality of these photos. Even my phone was pissed about being here apparently.

For dessert they had sheet cakes.

I didn't take a picture of all of them (four total), but I will add that my piece of cake was the Screaming Eagle's beak. I thought that was a nice touch.

Here I am with my handsome husband, putting on our cheese faces and ready to man the fire extinguisher if duty called.

I really was expecting to get our photo taken at the ball, so I only asked Brittany to snap a few shots of us before we left, in which I look like a whale in every last one of them. But I think you deserve more than this grainy iPhone picture since you all so kindly weighed in on my hair and wardrobe choices for this thing.

Even the hand-on-hip pose is not making you look any skinnier, girl. Whoooooo.....

Ugh I hate for this to be anywhere remotely NEAR the internet. At least Steve looks good.

I won't go into the nitty gritty about the ball, because basically, it is NOT something I recommend attending sober and since I did not go into labor there, there aren't too many interesting stories.

We got home and found out that Sam had a ball of his own with his red-headed babysitter. I'm thinking he was kind of ticked when he woke up the next morning and saw that Steve and I had come back.

Being the saint that he is, Steve took over toddler-duty for the day and let Brittany and I catch up and leave the house. Even though we don't live as close as we'd like and we don't get to talk as often as we want, it is always like we are picking up right where we left off when we get together. (That's how you know that your friend is a BEST friend.) Another indicator was that it felt like we only hung out for approximately ten minutes, when in fact, we had been gabbing away the entire day. Sadly, she had to go back home because she has a real JOB and a HUSBAND that wants to see her and a LIFE or something, so she couldn't come live with us forever. I guess I understand... (Thanks for coming Brittany!!!)

On the baby front though, I think we can all agree that I look as if I'm ready to burst, so in an attempt to encourage Second Baby to get a move on, I have consumed an entire fresh pineapple, drank every pregnancy tea available, eaten spicy foods, etc; NOTHING is making this child budge (unless you count the thousands of jabs taken daily to my diaphragm and bladder). Oh well. I think I still have a sock drawer to rearrange and a post-hospital meal plan to map out. OMG PRAY FOR US.