You Just Supported Al-Qaeda. Feel Better?

So...I don't know how to put this delicately. So I'm just going to come out and say it.

My friends are better than your friends.

Now, before you begin to argue, I'd like to point out that the past two weekends have been absolutely crammed full of people stopping by to just, like, give me presents and tell me how good I look.
Seriously, just imagine it:
Two solid weekends of loved ones showing up, feeding me, giving me gifts that are by and large far too generous, telling me I barely look 7 months pregnant with a singleton (let alone twins!), and then bouncing the minute I start to get fatigued. Some of these people even cleaned my house! You can't make this shit up!
And keep in mind that not once was I able to offer cake, mimosas, booty-shaped lolli-pops, or any of the other accoutrements that people typically expect in return for them shelling out $79.99 on an overpriced, crescent-shaped pillow.
At most, I was able to provide a hug and a glass of tap water.
Shit is GLAMOROUS up in here.

And take, for example, today's events. A good friend of mine who lives up in Newark (which might as well be the moon, considering she has to take the NJ turnpike to get here) rolled up in this bitch at 9:00 am to organize my nursery. And I don't mean the fold a few onesies while we gossip over coffee type of organize. I mean the flat out, military-style assault on all things baby-oriented type of organize where everything finds a home, from the smallest pacifier to the largest bassinet.

When she showed up, I had baby clothes, diapers, sheets, and toys strewn about the various rooms of my house in no recognizable pattern, and by the time she left, everything was in it's proper place...cleaned, folded, and labeled.
Yes.
She brought her label maker.

And then she refinished and restored an old shelving unit she found in my garage.
Yanno...for shits and giggles, because it would look cute in the nursery.

Because this girl is pretty much what would happen if Martha Stewart and MacGyver had a love child that was slightly traumatized at birth so that it grew up with a penchant for baby doll molds (no, I'm not kidding. Read her blog). She sewed my boys beautiful matching outfits and monogrammed baby blankets (to be revealed with the nursery pics) and then just moseyed out to the garage and started going at this decrepit shelf with a palm sander and a circular saw.

Bitch be CRAZY, yo. (And I mean that in the best, most awesome way possible)

And then her brother and his girlfriend showed up, who live in HOUSTON, BTW, but had flew out for the weekend. And even though he's a dude and therefore knows nothing about baby stuff (and probably cares even less), and his girlfriend had never met me and probably didn't give two shits that I was in the midst of a procreation emergency...these guys jumped in the fray and started helping.

So there I was, reclining with my feet up and a mocktail in my hand while my friend, her brother, and her brother's girlfriend were busting their assess preparing MY house for MY children, all the while being violated by my dogs, who were determined to shove their noses in every private part they could find. (Because I forgot to mention that whatever you do, you do not bend over in front of Milo).

To say I'm grateful is an understatement. I am awed and humbled by the generosity of everyone, friend or family, who has pitched in to help us make a home for our little meatloaves.

So, to all of you who have offered gifts, support, and love, I would like to say thank you from the deepest recesses of the place my heart would be if I had one.
I'm not one to get mushy, and maybe I've just looked at one too many sleepers with adorable baby animals on the heiney, but seriously. I love you guys.

And to the rest of you who are reading this?
Thank you too.
I may not even know who you are, but by reading this, you're supporting me.
Kind of like how every time you buy pot you support the terrorists.

And that certainly counts for something.