Tag Archives: Pregnancy

A Reality

Being knocked-up hasn’t been the easiest thing in the world for me to accept (yes, I know that you are all very surprised to hear this). It has been quite the process of coming to terms with things for me. I mean, I never wanted to have kids in the first place. The anxiety of the whole thing was almost too much for me at first. For someone who is really private about her personal life and seriously uncomfortable about letting just anyone in, it was quite the announcement to make that I was pregnant. (i.e.: “Hey! Guess what everyone! MB and I had sex a couple of months ago! And pretty soon, a child is going to come out of my lady parts!” Awkward.) Then, to top it all and add insult to injury, as soon as I felt confortable announcing my pregnancy to the masses and my employer, I was fired (coincidence? I think not.) from my job of almost four years! Naturally, this hasn’t been the best and brightest of experiences thus far. And I struggled so much with the reality of becoming a parent atop the loss of employment, insurance, stability, pride and many, many other things, that it was almost just easier to pretend it wasn’t happening to me. Even when I heard the baby’s heartbeat for the first time, six weeks ago, I was still kind of in denial. I cried my face off, worrying about how on earth I could do this whole motherhood thing. And for the first time, even despite all the vomit and heartburn and fatigue, it was actually starting to become a real thing. A REAL THING, ya’ll.

I can say that, through it all, most of my friends have been super fantastic. (I say most because some of the people who are my “best” friends have been little more than a faint memory since I told them about the pregnancy. And to them I say, “Screw you, bitches.”) They have kept me from slitting my wrists on more than one occasion and forced me to look at the positive aspects of having a baby.

1. I can eat McDoubles often and without excessive guilt. (There is guilt, but it is outweighed by the pure joy that the satisfaction of a McDouble provides to “the baby”. Because, all of us preggos know that it isn’t actually US craving the disgusting food, it is “the baby”.)

2. I can take naps. And not only do I not feel guilty about naps, but I also feel justified in taking them. After all, there is a foreign parasite in my pelvis. It is sucking the life out of me.

3. I am going to have an actual baby. Like, one that I made. I MADE IT. Granted, I did not do this alone, but whoa. I have some effing talent, for REALS.

Over the Christmas holiday, MB and I were able, through a gift from his sister, to have our first sonogram. For the first time, we were able to see this weirdo thing we created, as it rolled around in my belly (which, by the way, is totally the weirdest feeling in the entire universe).  I have to say, while it was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life, it was also one of the most miraculous. Who knew that I would actually feel love for the squishy, little bean inside of me? Who knew that I would be so happy to see it wriggle around. I knew something was in there and I was reminded nightly when I lay down in my bed and felt the “quickening”, but it still wasn’t…real.

 

Well, internet…it is real. And it’s a GIRL! I’m gonna be a momma!

HOLY CRAP.

On Being a Psychopath

I’ve always heard pregnant or previously pregnant women talk about the mood swings that they experienced during pregnancy and likened it to demon posession. This really didn’t seem so outlandish to me as I, having been raised by my mother (possibly the most hormonal and undermedicated person ON. THE. PLANET) have always been a bit of a high-strung broad, myself. I could totally understand overreacting about spilled milk. Or…whatever.

What I didn’t realize is that, HOLY SHIT, PEOPLE, pregnancy hormones are NOT A JOKE.

I have a gift of realizing, even in the midst of extreme overreaction, when I am being unreasonable. For this reason, as a pregnant woman, not only am I terrifying, but I am also, just…well…a mess.

1. I cry at commercials. Okay, to be honest, this isn’t completely new. Several years ago, there was a cell phone commercial starring a country singer going home to surprise her father on Christmas. This commercial made me lose my shit regularly. I blame this mostly on the fact that my dad lives halfway across the world and the only time I see him on/around Christmas is if someone dies. (NO joke.) But now, it isn’t just the sappy cell phone commercials starring country music icons and their fathers, (speaking of fathers, I just got a text from mine…weird) and it isn’t just the holiday Publix commercials with all the happy families celebrating together. Now, internet, I cry at pet food commercials. The sight of someone’s beloved dog or cat makes me a ball of emotions. And then I immediately have to find my cat and cuddle him until he bites my face off (roughly 3.75 seconds). Most of the time, the commercial crying happens when I am the only one home, so no one sees it and I can keep this under wraps for the time being (unless you read this. Then you know I am a super big nutcase.)

2. Things that have consistently made me a little irritated in the past, have become LIFE ALTERING, EMERGENT CRISES. The other day I had a full-on panic attack because My Beloved went to a friend’s house after work, smelled like he had had a beer (yes, I can tell it was one because my sense of smell is INSANE, along with the rest of me) and had been smoking and then wanting to go out and play pool later that night with said friend. Okay, I have an explanation for this, and it may not be logical if you have a penis or have never been pregnant, but, it is mine and I stand by it.

Ahem…

a) I miss cigarettes more than anything in the entire universe. I think that I crave cigarettes more than I crave McDoubles, which is just ridiculous, by the way. I have to, on a daily basis, convince myself that I cannot go to the gas station and buy a pack of cigarettes and smoke myself into a nicotine coma. So, when HE smokes, I could murder him. And I don’t mean like, poisoning murder, I mean the painful kind of murder. Involving knives or Chinese torture.

b) I can’t stand the smell of alcohol on My Beloved. It is disgusting. And I love to drink when I am not knocked up. I just can’t take the odor now. And he rarely drinks, but when he does, he smells like ASS. And it makes me want to make him sleep outside.

c) I feel that, since I am home all day, ALONE, with no contact with any other human beings (because my friends all work), he should stay here once he gets here. I mean, the least he could do while I am chained to our house and growing his spawn is stay home and entertain me. Fuuuuuuck.

d) I feel that, if I can’t drink, smoke, or hang out with friends, neither can he. He knocked me up, he should suffer right alongside me.

3. I desperately miss normalcy and being social. My dilemma? I don’t want to see my non-pregnant friends because they get to do whatever they want and have lives outside of laundry and heartburn and I am jealous. And also because I feel disgusting, fat and really uncomfortable (to the point almost of depression) in my new body, I can’t stand to see them NOT out of breath after taking 13 steps to cross a sidewalk or running to the bathroom every other minute.

4. MB has a problem with laundry. This issue has existed for our entire relationship thus far and it always annoyed me. The fact is, he doesn’t mind DOING his laundry, but he immediately upon removing it from the dryer, places it into a basket where it will stay for the rest of its life. This basket will live in the closet in our spare bedroom with the 3 or 4 other baskets full of clean laundry in said closet until MB is looking for one, specific item of clothing. At this time, he will remove baskets from the closet and dump them on any surface available, search through the massive pile and then, usually, leave for work. The massive pile of clothing will remain untouched until I either put it away or have a complete meltdown wherein I threaten to throw all of his clothing into the trash. Up until now, this promise of disposing of clothing has been an empty one. Today, while searching for a piece of my own laundry and realizing that it could be in one of the 76 baskets in our spare bedroom, I had the biggest meltdown of all. One basket had already been dumped

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onto the bed and three others peered at me from inside the closet. I dumped every, single one of them on the bed and fumed for 45 minutes until receiving a call from my other pregnant friend who assured me that I am not alone in my crazy and that it only gets worse. But reminded me, also, that this crazy is not my fault and that if I kill MB, there is a good possibility that I will deliver my baby in prison. And I am way too cute for prison.

A warning to My Beloved: If you would not like to move onto the porch, I suggest that your clothes find a home. Not a basket. Stat!

Moving Along…A Rant About Becoming a Parent

I am a little over 18 weeks pregnant now and, in just a few short months, My Beloved and I will be welcoming our child into the world. This ilicits a lot of responses from me. It varies from minute to minute from panic, to pure joy and pride, to total depression and despair for the state of humanity.

I think the panic part of this is normal and obvious. You know, because, having always acted LIKE a kid, actually HAVING one to take care of and having to be RESPONSIBLE for, is…well…it is a huge deal. And what if we do it wrong? Like, what if having a kid is not at all like having a cat? I am so good at having a cat, you guys. I have been doing it for 12 years. And I am stellar. I mean, aside from the fact that my cat is giant and overweight and still has not figured out that, not only is the litterbox for poop, it is for PEE. He prefers rugs.  Which is better than the actual carpet, but is still not ideal.  What if my kid won’t ever pee in a toilet? What if he/she prefers closets? Or the screened-in porch? Or, like, the kitchen sink? And what if, like in training (or not training, evidently) my cat, I am unable to persuade said child to pee inside the toilet?  What if I am a total failure?! Peeing in appropriate places is supremely important for most people in most situations.

(Sidenote:  Now that I am talking about this I am thinking about things I have not yet tried to show my cat how to pee INSIDE the litterbox and I am wondering why I have never tried to “lead by example” and realizing that, now that I am peeing 7 million times a day and am home with him most of the time, I may actually be able to train him correctly. Hmmm…Ponderous, no?

Side Sidenote: I want to stress here that I did say that peeing in appropriate places is supremely important for MOST people in MOST situations. Unless, MB and I decide to bring the baby up in some colony of naked rednecks or in some tribe somewhere in a desert, peeing in appropriate places will most likely be a really valuable skill. But I do understand that tribal people, naked, toothless rednecks and drunk frat boys do not live by our rules.)

I guess the joy and pride part is really very common too. I mean, who doesn’t take pride in making something special? When I make a perfectly round pancake, I sometimes feel the need to take pictures of it and post it on seven social networking sites so, you can imagine how proud I am feeling right now that a human being is currently hanging out in my womb just waiting to bust out and show everyone what REAL awesome looks like. I am sure this feeling of pride will last significantly longer than my perfectly round, Facebook pancake. I mean, I get to be proud of many things about this kid. When he/she rolls over for the first time. Or takes his/her first steps. Or starts kindergarten. Or learns the rules of appropriate peeing. Or granduates from high school. Take that, pancake!

But then the despair sets in. I wonder often, while breaking my one-woman eating contest and watching Jerry Springer (the joys of unemployment), how I can sleep at night knowing that I am bringing a child into a world where the topic of television shows is often “I Slept with My Sister’s Brother’s Cousin, Who Also May or May Not be My Real Father…Or Possibly Great-Aunt. Oh, yeah. And I’m Also A Stripper.” And where people say “irregardless” like it is a totally acceptable word. Like it isn’t at all redundant. How can I rest knowing that I will have to shelter my child from these evils? HOW?!

I am fully aware that I am not the only woman having the same dilemma and I am sure that once I hold the wee one, I will forget about all of this crazy and just be happy that I have created something so beautiful.

I am sure the kid will be fine. Irregardless.

 

Woohoo! (Continued…)

I know you all have been waiting with bated breath for me to post the seven little tidbits about myself and never fear, I have emerged from the pee-a-thon that has been this entire weekend thus far, and will do so now! Hooray! I had a little trouble finding things to say about myself, as I am not really sure what is noteworthy, so if this sucks, well…it is five minutes of your life you will never get back. Sorry.

1. I never wanted kids. I think you probably know, if you have been reading this blog for any length of time, that I never wanted kids. It could be a little obvious by the title and tagline of this blog. It is no joke, dear readers. I am not a huge fan of kids. I have, however, happened to find one of the best, most beautiful, kind, amazing men on the planet and he, as I am sure you can imagine, has always wanted to procreate. And I have to say, despite the fact that it has never been an ambition of mine, I am quite flattered that he thinks highly enough of me to want to make little miniatures together. As much of a blow as this pregnancy has been to me, I am comforted every day at the idea of creating someone who will be half him. I can’t think of anyone better to make a person with. So day by day, I am coming around to the idea of raising a child. And not without the help of someone who means everything to me. (I am having a really sappy day. Pardon.)

2. I have another blog. And I am cheating on it. I have had my other blog since (I think) 2004 and, really, I had a lot of fun with it for the first few years and then realizing that (gasp!) I was growing up and no longer spent most of my time playing beer pong and watching people fall down (or stealing giant, stuffed tigers and running down busy streets in the middle of the night), it became sort of just a place to go to re-read all of my past adventures. I tried to continue it, but I think we have gone our seperate ways.

3. I was once in a car accident wherein I was hit by a dead guy. True story. I didn’t know he was dead at the time, and wasn’t, I guess, at the start of the whole thing, but in the end, as it turned out, he had shot himself in the head before hitting me with his (stolen) car. I wrote about it here. And yes, it is insane. And no, I couldn’t make it up if I tried. Turns out he was a murderer who had just gotten out of jail in New York, shot someone else, stolen a vehicle, driven to Florida and hit me on my way back from Starbucks. (This may or may not be a sign that Starbucks is the devil.)

4. I am sort of a real-life Scrooge. I don’t like Christmas. Like, at all. It is also my birthday and the anniversary of my Grandmother’s death. She was my favorite person in the world. Ever. That is all.

5. I hate Phil Collins. My SERIOUSLY quirky friend told me once, about 12 years ago, that I would think of Phil Collins every day for the rest of my life. I thought that there was no way that this could be true. But it is. Phil Collins is everywhere. Sometimes, if I forget to turn the TV off before I fall asleep, I will wake up in the middle of the night to see his giant head staring at me from the screen. Pure. Hatred.

6. I once had to actually “quit” gummy bears. I am really not sure what it is with me and gummy bears. I really just effing love them. I will eat them until I vomit. Which is disgusting. I once bought a giant bag at a grocery store before going to the movies to see “American Psycho” and ate the whole bag and then puked for ten minutes in the movie theater parking lot. (I am a classy broad.) That said, there is no reason for me to explain any further why “quitting” was necessary. I think that I have this under control.

7. I really want to become and extreme couponer. Yes, I am aware that these people might be a little…wel…insane. But I am also aware that if I could learn how to be this kind of insane, I may never have to work again. And this would leave me a lot more free time for hating Phil Collins and eating gummy bears. And, oh yeah, I guess raising this kid.

There you have it, you guys. That’s me! I have a 100 Things list over here, if you want to check it out. It is a little out of date but…you know…things change daily around here!

 

 

On Worry…

I have to say, internet, that this week of unemployment has been…well…glorious. It is so nice to feel calm most of the day. I realize now how long it has been since I have felt this way. Calm. It is heavenly.

There are, however, some things that do tend to weigh on my mind these days. I mean, being jobless and free is a beautiful thing, but it also allows a lot of time for thinking. And for worrying. Which, by the way, I am super fantastic and skilled at.

I worry mostly about insurance. Currently, I don’t have any. I have applied for some aid, because as My Beloved and I have discussed, it is sort of unrealistic now to consider finding a job a real option. I am currently 17 weeks along and soon the pregnancy will be painfully obvious (yes, I can still hide it if need be, but not for long) and who is going to hire me at five months pregnant? Then I will have the 90 day probation period, where I will not have insurance and, during that time, the employer will have the option to let me go (and I can’t help but feel that this would be the plan of action because by that time, they would be well aware that I would soon be taking a period of time out of the office or whatever, for maternity leave). So finding a job? Not so much something I want to put myself through. So for now, I await answers from the powers that be to see what I am eligible for. Things are looking good for aid, even though I am pretty proud and never really wanted to have to go this route but, I think it is the best thing for me and the wee one. And being unmarried, in this case, has proven to be SUCH a benefit. (Go team ME!)

I worry, obviously, about money. Even though I have pretty much budgeted the bejesus out of everything and planned for everything short of an alien abduction, I still get a little freaked out thinking that the only income I will have is unemployment. Which, by the way, SUCKS. But, again, the fact that I can stay home and remain mostly stress-free is worth the money I will lose. It honestly is.

The money thing is a big concern, also, because I need to somehow be able to fund my McDouble habit. Which, honestly, has taken a back seat for the time being. But I am not sure how long I can keep the cheeseburger monster at bay. (Note to former employer: Seriously, you should really have thought of how dangerous it is to fire a pregnant lady with a serious cheeseburger problem. This was a grave mistake.)

Mostly, though, I am concerned that I may never sleep again. Why does no one ever tell you, before you get pregnant, that you will NEVER SLEEP AGAIN? Seriously. I was expecting that, once this kid is born, I would be up all night feeding and banging my head against hard stuff, but I thought that this not sleeping thing happened AFTER destroying my vagina. Not DURING gestation. I find myself physically and mentally exhausted by 7pm and passing out and dreaming about fried stuff with cheese and then waking up promptly at 2:45 am, moving back to the couch where I will watch re-runs of bad TV shows from the seventies until I finally get so frustrated that I start the hysterical crying/eating until about five minutes before My Beloved wakes up and comes into the living room. Which is when I will have just fallen asleep. I am not going to even get INTO the painful attempts at sleep while IN my bed. With my giant boyfriend wrapping his tree-legs around me periodically and my giant cat sleeping directly ON MY HEAD. Because I will start crying right now. And it is only lunch time. And my bed time/hysterical crying time is not for another 6-7 hours.  I could bear to disrupt the schedule of insanity. It is the only routine I have these days.

 

On A BREAK.

First, I would like to say a HUGE Thank you to all of you ladies (rays of internet sunshine) who have commented with all your encouraging and supportive words. All those words mean more than you can possibly know!  THANK YOU!

I actually feel pretty good. I have been a little ill (the vomiting has returned, just in time to make life just a little bit more fun!) but other than that, I am calm and feeling optimistic. I have honestly surprised my self with the lack of spaztastic tantrums and my ability to stay all cheery and to look on the bright side. (I finally learned about this “bright side” I have heard so much about!)  And the bright side is this:

While I may have come into this pregnancy reluctantly and even begrudgingly, it has happened. It is a real thing and it will happen whether I am ready for it or not. (This may not sound like a bright side, but hold on, I swear I’m getting there…) Everyone knew that I hated my job and the majority of the people that I worked with and the stress it caused me was painfully obvious to everyone around me. Bright side?  I no longer have to deal with the anxiety of working in a toxic environment and try to maintain my sanity for the health of my unborn child. Who, by the way, I am recognizing more and more every day as a real blessing.

So, there it is. Things have happened and are out of my control. And I feel good. Confident. And…strangely happy. (Go team ME!)

I have even gotten several phone calls already to schedule interviews for new jobs. The thing is, I am not even sure I want to attempt to find another job right now. In fact, the more I think about it, I am not sure I want to work at all. Like…ever.  And not because I want to be lazy and eat bonbons. Because it dawned on me that I couldn’t bear another job like the last few that I have had. And how good a parent can I be if I am constantly stressed out and unhealthy?  So, that’s where I am at the current moment. I am ON A BREAK! (And for you “Friends” fans, I need you to go ahead and read that in the voice of Ross.  If you didn’t, you did it wrong. Try again.)

Now if I could remember what sleep feels like…

Of COURSE…

And just when you think things can’t get any more stressful? You get laid off.

I went into work today, begrudgingly as always, and then left…well…more begrudgingly.  Five days after announcing my pregnancy, there I am, unemployed. I am not terribly upset about being unemployed, mainly because I can’t think of anything I hate more than that job. (Except maybe one of my previous jobs…) I am exhausted, fat, and now, without health insurance. Isn’t life grand?

That said, I will just put it out there that I absolutely believe that this situation is based solely on my pregnancy and the fact that there were rumors that lay offs would start after the new year.  I am fairly certain that, because of my condition, and the expense on the small company that employed me of the time off I will have to take, I was the prime target of this. It is disheartening because I have been there for almost four years, but also, as I said, a relief. Such an intense hatred of something can’t be good for the baby.

But I won’t say that I haven’t freaked out and thought about going and hitting several choice people in the face (or with my car) today. I have. And the fantasies have been almost as real as the ones I have about stabbing the cast of The Real World. And that, my friends, is serious.

I know that things will work out for the best. My Beloved and I did have some things in mind that we couldn’t do while I was working, so now, well, I am all freed up for the time-being. I am hoping that I am eligible for unemployment and can take a little time off to decide what happens next. In the meantime, I am just doing research on assistance programs and things in the area.

It is frustrating to think that a company that I have worked long, and ridiculously hard hours for would do this to me now. NOW?! Really?

Anyone experienced in knee-breaking, hit me up. Have I got some work for YOU.

 

Also??? I NEED WINE.

Aftermath

The Facebook announcement wasn’t as traumatic as I had expected. I did get a lot of support from my friends and family and it was welcomed and appreciated and I feel so much lighter. SO MUCH LIGHTER. Only one person from work, evidently, saw the post and responded and has mentioned it to me today. I am quite sure that there are others who know but have not said anything yet, which is annoying but sort of a relief. I just want to know that everyone knows and has gotten all the talk out of their systems so we can all move on. Many of my good friends (in fact, almost all of them) have kids already, so they have already proven to be a good resource for me. But I will tell you, I sort of feel, with the influx of all the advice, that my head might explode at any moment. How am I supposed to remember the names of all the contraptions that are a waste of money, or the ones that are baby must-haves? I could write these things down, I suppose, but I am so overwhelmed with the whole thing that I can’t manage to think fast enough to do that. And then, before I know it, I have forgotten and then find myself in a panic because I don’t know the name of that thing that does stuff that makes the kid sleep for HOURS and I NEED THAT THING. What IS it?!

 

Aside from my normal state of utter panic, I have been doing pretty well. I have managed to answer phone calls that I know will result in conversations about babies, which, two weeks ago, never would have happened. As it turns out, a good friend of mine is also pregnant right now and has not yet made the announcement, but is due two weeks after my due date. This is awesome for several reasons:

1. She will significantly reduce the amount of freaking out I have to do with regard to what to buy for this kid because she has a little one already and knows what is a necessity and what is a waste of too much money.

2. She will probably understand if I am a complete psychopath for the next few months and will probably still come with me to do a baby registry and stuff so I don’t drive my car off a bridge from the stress of it all.

3. I was really wishing that I had a pregnant friend who could hang out with me and NOT drink wine. And she loves wine as much as I do, so we can be bitter about it together. (I don’t think that she is as bitter as I am because she likes babies more than wine and I am still undecided and I believe that I will be until I hold this little alien and decide which is more rewarding: Pinot Grigio or “the baby smell”? Jury is still out.)

4. I desperately want someone to waddle with when the time comes. Waddling alone just sounds depressing.

 

I had been feeling little flutters from time to time, but nothing to write home about. In fact, I told My Beloved yesterday (and most days) that this baby needs to DO SOMETHING soon because I just feel fat. I feel hideous and obese and generally GROSS. I feel like all these changes are happening to my body, but so far, no real, hard evidence that it is for any good reason. And I am telling you, that is effing annoying. It has been really hard for me to accept all this extra discomfort (and belly mass) without being somehow rewarded.  But last night, or early this morning rather, I woke up for my 7th trip to the bathroom and returned to bed, half-asleep. I assumed my position, on my stomach, and started to actually feel something. And, this time, it wasn’t just that tiny little flit of something moving about, it was an honest-to-goodness, baby doing backflips kind of feeling and it went on for a good five minutes straight.

 

I was both excited and terrified about this. At first, I wasn’t sure that I had even felt it at all, or if I had been dreaming the whole thing.

But in the end, I guess the baby heard my request and decided to DO SOMETHING. And I am quite certain that this is an idication that he/she is both obedient and a genius. Oh, and possibly a gymnast.

 

Now I will await the first kicks, which I am sure will totally freak me out. I might need therapy. Or to call my fellow preggo friend (THANK HEAVENS!!!)

 

P.S. Speaking of kicks and whatnot, for future reading on the subject, go here!

 

We Did It! Broken News!

…and I am not talking about the act that got us into this mess in the first place!

Yesterday, My Beloved and I broke the news to the remaining family members who hadn’t already been told by my mother or his sister. We brought a cheesecake to his mom’s house for dessert with the words, “We’re Preggo!” written in chocolate chips across the top. She must’ve stared at it for 45 seconds before screaming with glee and then laughing/crying for ten minutes. It was just the response we had hoped for. I actually got a little teary-eyed for, like, the second time during the whole 15 weeks that I have been pregnant. (And this time, not because I really just wanted to chug a bottle of wine or sleep through the night…or you know…take my head OUT of the toilet for a whole ten minutes in a row…)

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Panic and Maternity Pants

My Beloved and I decided to go ahead and share our news with our family and friends on Thanksgiving. You know, because, everyone is thankful for the upcoming opportunity to change diapers and get puked on for a couple of years only to be rewarded with more and different things such as, “the terrible twos” and the realization that you may never eat in a restaurant again. Oh! And germs! And paying for college! I digress. Anyway, yeah. Thanksgiving.

 

We decided that, since no one is really making a big to-do about the holiday this year and my mom is out of state for a funeral (and, already knows and is buying massive quantities of unisex baby gear), we just would “bring dessert” to dinner on Thursday. We’ll bring a pumpkin pie with the words “we’re pregnant” written on top and then present it to his mom and watch her spaz for a while and then I will gorge myself with turkey (or said pie) and then take a nap. That’s the plan. I then plan to Facebook bomb everyone else because if  I have to say the words one more time, I might hurl myself off a bridge. This way, everyone can react from the privacy of their own homes and will, hopefully, not feel the need to call and discuss it with ME. Because, as previously discussed, I am not sure I can handle the oohs and awwwws. I am queasy enough, people. Besides, if you are a person I would allow oohs and awws from, then you didn’t find out about it over Facebook. Duh.

 

The only person in my family left to tell was really my dad, because my mom has opened her big, fat mouth to everyone else, although she keeps insisting that she hasn’t but when my grandma said, “So, am I hearing rumors about you or not?” I sort of figured it out.  I was waiting for a time to actually speak with him, (he is fairly hard to get on the phone because there is a 16 hour time difference) but finally decided that, if I didn’t want him to find out on Facebook too, I’d better send him an email pretty soon. I did that yesterday. I feel that my dad is going to be a big, sappy mess when I talk to him. And that makes me uncomfortable.

 

The anxiety is slowly lifting for me, though. I have been able to speak openly with several of the women in my office but have asked that they are respectful of my privacy and so far, that seems to have worked. As we near Thanksgiving, I am starting to feel more and more comfortable with the idea that people will know and I can just move on with my life, panic free! (And believe me, I am aware that it may seem ridiculous the amount of panic I have about this but I am uber-private and having the kind of news I cannot hide takes away a bit of my control and makes me feel…well…naked. And the thought of myself as a naked, pregnant lady, disturbs me…)

 

On an entirely different note, I have learned that, while the mere thought of maternity clothes sent shivers up my spine just a few short weeks ago, they are delightful. I can’t speak to the tops yet, as I have no need for them at this point but I would like to share with you that I have purchased 5 pairs of maternity pants on eBay and I am having trouble with the idea that, after I have this baby, I will have to go back to wearing regular pants. Seriously. Do I have to? It seems to me that I should get to be comfortable and not feel like an overstuffed sausage, like, all the time. Not just when I am knocked up. I think ALL women should be wearing maternity clothes! Down with non-elastic waists!

 

That’s really all I got.