I have a realization to proclaim.

I am bad in making speeches.

Scratch that.

I HAVE TROUBLE COMMUNICATING MY THOUGHTS VERBALLY.

Back in college, I wrote a great speech for my Public Speaking class. When I got on the podium to deliver it, I sounded like an idiot and I don't think anybody got my message.

As the maid of honor, I was asked to say something to my bestfriend during her wedding a couple of weeks back, and again, I sounded like a brainless git.

I wrote and memorized the perfect wedding vow for Mr. Frost. When it was time to decalre my undying love in the form of that vow, I faltered and embarassed myself. In one of my posts last March, I said it was Mr. Frost's brain-freezing vow that made me stammer and mess up my own vow.

But the truth is, I am bad at speaking. Whether in a room with more that 5 people in it or when I'm doing something as simple as telling a story or a joke. I always end up embarassing myself.

For years, I denied this fact. I kept on telling myself that I am good, shit just happens.

It's only recently that I was able to accept that my mantra "I make things happen" applies to every single thing that occurs in my life. If shit happened, there's no one to point the blaming finger at but me.

But hey, with that, I can now put into practice another belief of mine, "Acceptance is the key to recovery." I have accepted that I suck. Next step is, become better. At sucking.

Hey, if I'm gonna fail, at least I'll be good at it. If I'm gonna fall flat on my face, at least I'm gonna screw up with flair and grace.

I'm not making any sense, am I?

Oh well. That's my rant/thought for the day.

Mr. Frost and I have moved to our new place. It's not "ours," actually, it was my room when I was still living with my parents.

We moved in with my parents to prepare for the coming of Baby Frost. Anyone who needs more explanation than that deserves to eat dung.

Anyway, we started preparing our things for the move last Thursday. That was the schedule of the company outing, and since Mr. Frost and I decided that the 4-hour travel won't be good for Baby Frost, we took a two-day leave and scheduled the move instead.

It took me two days to prepare the Fort Bonifacio room for the move. My old room, although I still use it whenever we visit my parents, was partially used as a storage area. Some of my mom's stuff, which she doesn't and probably will never use, took up about a quarter of the room. Another quarter was taken up by my nephews' and nieces' old and broken toys. My old stuff took a big part of the room, and when I sorted them out, I ended up throwing up about 50% of them.

Mr. Frost and I barely slept Saturday night and woke up at 3:30 Sunday morning. We left Fort Bonifacio with the moving truck at 4:30AM. We finished moving our things from Tandang Sora to Fort Bonifacio at around 7:30AM.

The room was quite small, and it's amazing how Mr. Frost was able to fit most of our prized possessions there. And how he made the room look like a real bedroom in just one day.

And he did it all by himself.

He worked tirelessly inside the room ALL DAY to make the room look like a real nice bedroom. That's not easy considering we had lots of stuff we wanted to keep in the room. There's the TV set, DVD player, desktop computer, loooooots of books, DVDs, Mr. Frost's magical gold fish, and of course, Sikei's precious toys.

Not that I didn't do anything. I took care of "merging" our kitchen stuff in my mom's kitchen. And it's not that easy as well since I had to tidy up the kitchen also. My mom has this unexplainable fondness over old, useless things, so I had to be careful not to be seen when throwing things out.

I so appreciate everything that Mr. Frost is doing for me. I really feel so blessed to have married such a considerate, loving, super caring, and understanding person. He never fails to make me feel like a princess every single day. Now I understand how it feels when I hear someone say, "There's nothing more you could ask for."

Thinking about Mr. Frost and how he takes care of me always make my heart overflow with love for him. And when I feel such overflowing emotion, I feel like crying and hugging him like there's no more tomorrow. In case you find any problem with that, blame the pregnancy hormones, okay? But I am basking in this pleasurable state Mr. Frost (and Sikei, of course) so willingly and lovingly provides me.

"How can I explain to you the way I feel inside when I think of you? I thank you for everything that you showed me. Don't you ever forget that I love you..."

Thank you, Mr. Frost, for thinking that I deserve your love and affection.

(aMbUsH101's note: To those who find this virtual public display of affection too cheesy for comfort, I hope you experience the kind of love Mr. Frost and I share so you'll understand where people like me get their guts to do these kinds of things. And when you do, kindly leave a message in my tagboard indicating your blog or website so I can see who's cheesier, you or me.)

Whenever we go home late, no matter where we came from, Mr. Frost and I take a cab home and we start our roller coaster ride with a burden we carry every time we get in a cab at 10PM onwards.

Sleeping cab drivers. Every single time.

They're our curse.

"Sleeping", not "sleepy," because most of them actually slept through the trip. They close their eyes and drift off to sleep while their feet are continuously stepped on the gas pedal, waking up with a start when we're about an inch or 3 seconds away from the vehicle beside or in front of us.

It's amazing how this happens EVERY SINGLE TIME we go home late. Never fails.

And each time I see the cab driver's eyes close (through the rearview mirror), I feel my heart banging furiously against my ribcage, shouting at the top of its figurative lungs:

"I love my work! Please don't make me stop working! GET OFF THIS BLOODY CAB!"

And the funny thing is, you can never tell that a cab driver is on his way to Neverland when they stop to pick you up.

To keep the driver awake, Mr. Frost and I talk endlessly about nothing. We nervously laugh at the shallowest of things. We try to engage the driver in the conversation. Worked a couple of times. And never again.

We tried asking the driver to pull over, but every time we finally find our voice to talk, the cabbie is suddenly wide awake. I think they have a radar on passengers wishing to get off.

I'm not sure if my post actually made sense, but I don't really give a damn. I've got it off my chest and I'm ready to ride with another sleeping cabbie tonight.

Damn curse.

A couple of weeks back, Mr. Frost and I were having our favorite McDonald's breakfast and I was being my bitchy, pregnant self. I was giving him a taste of hell so early in the morning for no reason at all, and what does he have to say?

"I want my wife back."

That struck a nerve. And made me think the whole damn day. And the weeks that followed.

It's amazing how pregnancy change the lives of countless women.

The change in these things is inevitable and expected. Lifestyle, priorities, view of life in general, relationship with the people around them, wardrobe, waistline, dietary habits.

Personality.

Is deterioration of the brain a common pregnancy symptom?

Mr. Frost may be as patient as Mother Teresa and continue to forgive my irrationality. I may find a thousand reasons to justify my bitchiness while I am pregnant. Still, nothing will ever change the fact that, while Mr. Frost has been doing everything in his power to make things easier for me, all I have done in return is make his life miserable.

It took me weeks to find the time to write something about this, but that doesn't make my statement mean less.

I'm starting not to like the person I have become.

Mr. Frost and I used to bash each other in a crazy, fun way. Now, Mr. Frost has to watch every joke he makes as nobody knows what can set me off.

When I start reading a nice book, I used to stay engrossed in it for hours, even days. Now, my attention span is shorter than Mr. Frost's fingernails.

I used to be rational and seldomly show my annoyance openly. Now, I lack powers of understanding that I can snap at anybody for the smallest thing.

Mr. Frost and I used to have interesting conversations we can stay at home all day just talking. Now, unless it's about Baby Frost, I barely last five sentences.

Yep, I definitely don't like the person I have become. I only hope I haven't driven my "nice" self too far so I can still convince her to come back.

So Mr. Frost can be happy and have fun again. He deserves no less.

I'm sorry, Mr. Frost. I'll do my best to bring your wife back.