Welcome to my Cervix.


Uterus and uterine tubes.

Uterus and uterine tubes. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, its getting down to the wire, internet. I now have 5 weeks until my due date.  This has been the longest goddamned countdown of my life, and here it is, very near the end. And here I am, starting to freak the fuck out.

It is easy, at the start of a pregnancy (and really) all through the second trimester (if you ask me) to realize that you are pregnant and deal with that, but somehow avoid the reality of the situation wherein you will actually somehow have to expel this baby from your LOINS. That reality started to set in at my last OB appointment. The ARNP I have been seeing for the entirety of my care said, “Everything looks good. Next time, we’ll do some cultures and look at your cervix!”

At first, the statement, “look at your cervix” was mildly unsettling. You know, just because I don’t really want anyone to ever talk to me about wanting to look at it. It is private, y’all. Leave my cervix alone. Not to mention that I am feeling like a big, disgusting blimp and haven’t been able to shave my bikini line in order to appropriately display my lady parts.  (Gasp!) I am aware that my ARNP is used to looking at women’s nether regions and that she probably won’t care about my shaving habits.  And I am no stranger to the GYN and people have ventured here before. But I am also aware that this “cervix viewing” can only mean one thing. I am almost done. And one day SOON, a person is going to squeeze out of my vagina and this shit is going to HURT.

I have, thus far, managed to block out the fear of pain and discomfort and pooping. At least for the most part. Hell, I have been so anxious to get this kid out of me, that it has barely been a thought in my head. (Back pain, hip pain, breathlessness, intense heart burn and constant peeing tend to do that to a person, I guess.) But now, here in the home stretch, I am starting to think about what happens when I actually DO go into LABOR. (You know, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The moment I have been praying would happen RIGHT NOW for the past two weeks.) There is no doubt in my mind that I can do this. I am strong and capable of delivering this child, but I am terrified of the pain and the distruction of my friend, my trusty vagina.

I have read a lot of really good birth stories. I have appreciated how candid and real everyone has been with their most intimate moment, when they meet their child. But lets be real, internet, how much pain are we talking? I mean, I know that the generic answer to that question is something like, “The pain is totally worth it once you see the face of your child” and I TOTALLY GET THAT. But, be for real! Is my head going to spin around? Will I spit pea soup? Will my body split completely down the middle?


Third Trimester, You’re a Bastard

Today, I am 28 weeks pregnant. 

This is really awesome because this means that SOON MB and I will be welcoming Baby L into the world and we could not be more excited. (I am probably more excited than he is because I just can’t wait to have my body back! OMG.) But I can’t say there isn’t a fair amount of panic welling up inside me. You know, because I went from being a carefree, fun-loving employed and generally happy person, to essentially being two people. Complete with psychotic mood swings, ridiculous food cravings and a rapidly expanding waistline.

I feel seriously unprepared right now. Is this where the nesting thing is supposed to kick in? Because I have an intense desire to reorganize the entire house. But I scarcely have the energy to bend over and pick up the shoes that have been sitting in front of the door for two days.  I gather that this is normal? It’s really hard to have this intense drive to do something that my body doesn’t let me do.  Screw you, third trimester, you are a bastard.

Some notes:

1. The heartburn has returned. I am tempted to say that it is worse than it was in the first trimester. It never really went completely away but had gone from the every other day routine to once or twice a week in the Second Trimester to a bottle of Tums per day for over a week now.  My fiery esophagus is going to drive me insane.

2. Bending over has ceased to be an option.  When I look down at my belly, I don’t see this massive bump (and no, I am not delusional, I guess I am just getting used to it), I see my body, just grown enough to accommodate my little Baby L and I am more and more okay with that. But Jeebus forbid, I drop something on the floor and have no one near me to pick it up. I feel, sometimes, that it will be simpler to get down on all fours to pick items up from the floor than to attempt to bend down to pick things up. No good.

3. I am a narcoleptic insomniac. Explain that one. I cannot sleep when sleeping is appropriate because my belly has grown to be the single most uncomfortable sleeping partner IN. THE. UNIVERSE. I have a body pillow but cannot find a way to maneuver my belly and/or the pillow into a position where I don’t feel as though I am crushing my child’s head.  I don’t want to crush my child’s head, I just want to be comfortable, for Christ’s sake! On top of not sleeping when sleeping is appropriate, I could fall asleep in the middle of a rock concert. This is not a joke. I have adjusted my sleep schedule, due to necessity, and now allow myself to sleep when tired (meaning naps are now permitted) but I find that, it takes me hours to fall asleep, I remain asleep for 4 hours, wake up for 3, and then go back to sleep for 2 and then, around three o’clock, I am DONE. It doesn’t matter where I am or what I am doing, I might have just fallen asleep. And caffeine is a no-no (or at least the amount of caffeine I would require at this point). Feel free to shake me.

Generally, I am uncomfortable. I knew that it was only going to get worse so I can’t say that I have been caught off guard or anything, but Holy GOD people, why is pregnancy so LONG?!


Your Cake is My Cake

When I found out I was pregnant, I felt a little like I had to let go of my whole life. Like I would have to change anything. Like my friends wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me because no one wants to hang out with “the pregnant girl”. Because God knows, I never wanted to hang out with the pregnant girl! I would have to refrain from smoking and we couldn’t go to the dive bar down the street and listen to really bad live music or karaoke. And she would probably want to go home and go to bed at 7:30. All of these things suddenly became true of me. And I couldn’t bare to drag my free, without-parasite friends down. I did, however, find solace in the glorious dream of food. Before you are pregnant, you hear other preggos say things like, “I wouldn’t normally eat this, but the baby wants it.” or “I could never eat this much food if I weren’t pregnant.” I delighted in the idea of chili dogs and french fries and massive quantities of lasagna for dinner. And mid morning snacks of ice cream and potato chips. But there are things they don’t tell you, internet. Oh yes, there are things.

In the first trimester, I wanted to eat my weight in double cheeseburgers, as you know. The main draw of these McDoubles was that the grease factor was such that they coated my stomach and actually prevented my getting heartburn and/or vomiting my face off for several hours. Well played, McDonalds. But once that severe nausea was gone, McDoubles started to taste like the craptastic pseudofood that they actually are. This made my heart sink. For the emotional attachment I had developed for them and they comfort that they gave me could not easily be replaced.

There were also no chili dogs. Does this mean I didn’t dream of chili dogs all day long? NO. It means that chili dogs or anything containing tomato sauce (including lasagna) caused so much discomfort that I would have sooner gouged my eyes out with spoons than eaten them. I sat daily, eying my now fiance, MB, wishing that I could dip him in chili and cheese and eat him up without experiencing karmic and regular heartburn. (There is a moral here, never fantacize about eating the one you love.) But the hunger that I experienced without constant McDoubles only caused MORE heartburn and MORE nausea.

During the second trimester, I told myself that, because this would be the “honeymoon phase” of pregnancy, I would eat salads and things that were not cooked in a vat of oil. This is easier said than done. Because I don’t want a salad. I want cake. I want cake right now. And I don’t care what kind of cake it is. Or who this cake belongs to. I will eat this cake lightening fast and with little to no remorse. Your cake is my cake.20120213-115958.jpg

I don’t even eat sweets, internet. I am a potato chip girl. I love the delicious, salty crunch of Ruffles. I want to dip them in buffalo cheese dip that I reserve to make for special occasions and put them between the bread of ALL sandwiches alike. But now? I can’t eat potato chips. They are too salty and they are not cake.

A misconception about the glory of eating during pregnancy was that you will have a crazy, huge appetite and can eat constantly. I was looking forward to this. Not because I have been a restricter or anything in the fast, but mostly because I really just effing love food. My Norwegian grandparents taught us to eat like we would never eat again, but along with that Norwegian tendency, I also inherited the ability to gain weight by THINKING about food. So, I was excited to be pregnant and to have an excuse. They don’t tell you, though Internet, that you will salivate over food all day long, but when you begin to eat it, ravenously hungry and close to inhaling the person who is kind and brave enough to dine with you, you will not be nearly as hungry as you think. In fact, you will take exactly three bites of that beautiful me


al and then realize that the baby inside you has shifted to sit on the exact place that simultaneously makes you have to pee and vomit. You are full. After dreaming of this giant plate of pasta deliciousness all day. (And you don’t even like pasta.) You will have to-go boxes from every establishment you have passed by over the course of the last three months because, let’s face it, internet. You are full now, but this will not stop you from stopping at 13 more restaurants on the way home and trying again.


The Bump

Well, ladies and gents, it is official. I look like a giant, pregnant beast.

Over the weekend, MB and I decided that, on our way back from our lovely day of “playing tourist” in nearby St. Augustine, we would stop by the outlet mall on the way home. I had no idea how many baby stores there are in that place! I guess when you don’t have any reason to pay attention to baby stores, you don’t really notice that they even exist. And I definitely, before now, have never wanted anything to do with these places. Anyway, we bought about 300 little outfits for the wee one and one of them actually made me BURST INTO TEARS. Yes, I cried like a bitch at the mere SIGHT of an adorable little newborn outfit. And then I wanted to thrown myself into traffic. I did not. I, instead, put the item back on the rack and exited the store as fast as my gigantic body could do so.

Then we went into a maternity store.

I was super excited at the idea of possibly finding some semi-stylish clothing that might actually flatter my baby bump rather than making me look like…a house. I tried on 23 pairs of jeans, each one fitting stranger than the last, and ended up leaving with a bra the size of the entire Pacific Northwest, and a pair of those jeans that come up to your neck.

I was overly body-conscious many times in my life before becoming pregnant. And I am no stranger to being totally disgusted with my reflection, but generally, I can recognize that most of this insecurity is in my head. I do know, intellectually, that I am an attractive person. Big ass or not. (As it turns out, lots of people like a big ass!) I have naturally blonde hair and big, blue eyes. I have cute-ish freckles on my nose and cheeks and my eyelashes go for days. I am physically pretty. And on many levels, I know this. I KNOW IT, but I don’t always SEE it.

Being pregnant has made it harder to recognize the things about myself that I have always appreciated. Sure, my blonde hair is thicker and feels fantastic. And my cheeks do sort of glow with that tell-tale pregnant lady rosiness. And even though they make me FEEL a bit bovine, my boobs look pretty damn fantastic. But I can’t help but just feel huge. Huge and unattractive and anxious. I think that, having had body issues my whole life, adjusting to this weight gain and shape-changing has been more painful for me than anything else. My anxiety about being in public grows with my belly. I tend to feel that, without MB, who constantly tells me that I am the most beautiful thing in the world, I cannot brave the world outside. I don’t want strangers to stare at my midsection or try to touch me (because, unpreggos, it is NEVER appropriate to touch strangers’ bellies, I cannot stress this enough!) Up until now, I could convince myself to be confident all on my own. Now I sort of just want to shrink away until this baby is out. OUT!

Yesterday, I cried while I got dressed. And I may have just been having one of those over-emotional pregnant lady days, but it definitely felt like my chest was about to cave in. I am hoping that I start to make progress on accepting my body the way it is. Because I really do INTELLECTUALLY know that the worst is yet to come. The belly is going to continue to grow and the pants will continue to stretch and then, in what seems like years from now, I will finally get this thing out of my abdomen and hopefully start my journey back to my, slightly overweight but pretty damn adorable pre-pregnancy self.

All of this crazy is the main reason that, up until last week, I wouldn’t even take a picture of myself because I couldn’t bear for there to be photographic evidence that this is what I look like. In attempt to get over myself, here I am Internet. Baby bump and all. (exhale……)


A Comparison of Symptoms…

In my first trimester, I kept reading about how the second one is soooo much better and that I would have energy and an appetite and would feel like a million bucks in comparison to the first few months of pregnancy. I believed this hype, thinking that there is no way that the second trimester could rival the first in terms of general discomfort. I was sort of wrong, you guys. With the second trimester came a bunch more fun symptoms, and I am not sure which ones are worse.

First Trimester:

1.Okay, so there was the “morning sickness”. All of us preggos know that the term “morning sickness” is a term used to describe the extreme nausea and vomiting that come along with the first trimester changes to your body. I believe that whomever decided it was a good idea to term it “morning sickness” was an asshole (and probably a man) who wanted to trick women into thinking that this discomfort would only last for a short period of the day. Like, from the hours of 8am to 11:59am.  This is a total lie. “Morning sickness” occurs all day long. And sometimes continuously for the entire day. And sometimes, if you are really, really lucky, it lasts beyond the first trimester.

2. Effing heartburn. Holy Jeebus. I used to get heartburn once or twice a year. When it happened, it was unbearably painful and, of course, because I got it so infrequently, I was always unprepared for it and it made me want to kill myself and/or eat an entire bottle of antacids. During my first trimester, the heartburn became daily. Several times, each day. And it was excrutiating and made me not only want to kill myself, but also those around me.

3. FATNESS accompanied by insatiable hunger for really disgusting food that you would never in your life ingest in these quantities. You get fat. Period.

4. Mood swings. Okay, okay. I know. I am insane. Leave it alone.

There are a whole host of other ridiculous and horrible things that happen to your body during this time but I think we all know what we are talking about here. These were the worst for me.


1. Morning Sickness. You are told this will end, so you begin to feel hopeful and  less suicidal. You still carry saltines in your purse. You will pretend not to need them and will sometimes have to open your car door at traffic lights and vomit outside. But you will not be discouraged. This is the second trimester! This is supposed to be UTOPIA.

2. Heartburn. WILL IT EVER END?! You have been swallowing fire for months and are starting to believe that you could be an ACTUAL fire eater! After all, you should be paid for this sort of agony.

3. FATNESS.  You will get bigger and bigger until you feel you might explode. You will see other pregnant women who seem to enjoy their “baby bumps” but in studying your own, have noticed that, not only is it not as cute on you, but that appears to have doubled in size over the last two hours.

4. THE PAIN! This is a new one. You will never, EVER be comfortable again. You cannot sleep on your back because it restricts bloodflow to the baby, you cannot sleep on your stomach because it will feel like a) you are sleeping on a grapefruit and b) you are smashing your child, you cannot sleep on your right side because your right hip cannot support the weight of your GIGANTIC belly and you cannot sleep on your left side because…well…YOU CANNOT SLEEP ON YOUR LEFT SIDE! Your back will burn from the pain of carrying another PERSON around with you all day, every day for many months. Your head will pound from the lack of sleep you have had over the last several days (weeks?) and you cannot take drugs. Did you hear me?! YOU CANNOT TAKE DRUGS!

5. Mood swings. Check! (But don’t you dare bring it up. I will cry.)

Keep in mind, I was in a fairly severe car accident six years ago wherein I tore some disks in my back, so back pain is not new.


Please tell me it gets better! AHHHH!

On a sidenote: EAT THESE COOKIES! Holy crap!

It’s All Downhill From Here…

But totally in a good way!

Yesterday, the wee one hit the 20 week mark! This is amazing news because it means (gasp!) that this whole pregnancy thing is HALF OVER! I know that this doesn’t necessarily mean that I am out of the woods and that it is going to be a piece of cake from here, but it definitely means that I only have to be pregnant for as long as I have been pregnant so far and this, my friends, is awesome news. I know that there are many trials and MUCH growth to go, but it will be over SOON(ish) and then we will have a real, live, honest-to-goodness baby. And then I will freak out for a whole new set of reasons. Hooray!

Since the sonogram and the announcement to the family of the sex of our little bean, I have actually (slowly but surely) been taking on a new attitude. The excitement of the whole thing is starting to outweigh the longing for a girls’ night out complete with a giant, dirty martini. I am not saying that I spend every minute of every day super excited and nesting and running around like a momzilla or anything, but I definitely feel more moments of intense joy than I did, well, probably ever before in my life. The more the wee one moves, (which let me tell you, she is definitely fond of doing) the more I feel connected to her. Sometimes she doesn’t move all day and I have a mini coronary, thinking that something might be wrong. But then I lie down in bed with My Beloved and he puts his giant hand across my belly and there she is, flipping around like a little dolphin. I think she is showing off for her daddy. Already a daddy’s girl, I see. (As it should be, I guess. I am totally prepared to take on the role of the evil mother and disciplinarian since, like most daddies I’ve seen, MB is already melting at the idea of having a little girl and will likely be useless as far as discipline goes…)

I don’t really know when this change happened but I feel a mixture of things. I feel calmer than before. It sounds weird, but I haven’t really been nervous about actually having a child. I feel completely confident and confident that I will figure it out. Yes, I have moments of crazy panic and irrational spaz attacks, but for the most part I am sure I will be a good mother. I know what kind of little person I would like my little person to be and I will do my best to make sure that she knows that she is loved and special and wanted, every, single day. Because I never really had that. And I think that is the most important thing  a child needs to know. “You are a miracle and we love you very much.” I know that this pregnancy, expected or not, is something that was meant to happen, and despite my cynicism and sarcasm, I don’t take it lightly, and I won’t take being a parent lightly either. I may not know the specifics of HOW to do it yet, but I have a pretty good idea of how NOT to do it, so, that’s a start.

I also feel, sometimes, that I am completely unprepared and ill-equipped. Again, parenting, though I know it won’t be easy, is not what scares me. What scares me is the uncertainty of our situation right now. Obviously, it is not ideal. My unemployment, while we are working it out quite well, has been a blow that has caused a lot of extra stress. And I have had to keep reminding myself of how much I hated that hell hole I was working in. And how much happier I am now that I don’t have to be there with those people. Plans have just changed because of it. Things will have to be re-planned and reconsidered. The move that we have planned will have to be delayed until we can figure out how to make it happen with a newborn. Things that will ultimately be beneficial for all of us, as a family, will still happen, but the plans will need tweaking.

Overall though, internet, I am optimistic. I feel fresh and clean. Like I have a new lease on life. Even though I am fat and cranky and my body will never be the same. And even though, my neurosis will be amplified infinitely after this kid pops out. I know we will make it work. And dammit, I am so glad that this is half over. Because I am ready to hold this little girl already…

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!


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.


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


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!

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.



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!