December 1, 2009
I had a mini-meltdown today. I have let things pile up for awhile and for the past three days it has all been falling down around me, and I am not handling it so well.
My term paper and another tedious reflective letter are due on Wednesday. I have not touched either of them. I am going to fail my algebra class. I have a small website to design as the final for my internet/intranet design class. I attempted to start on all of these things today, by totally crashing at 9:30PM and waking up four hours later.
J and I must have experienced a fracture or a break in our relationship. Some rather nasty things were said by both of us, and I remember crying a lot and asking why he was being so mean. Then he went home and argued with some other people, right before his big hunting trip. Then last night his whole bad energy situation reached boiling point and he ended up getting attacked by someone in my backyard and now has a black eye and a wounded sense of man-pride.. I can’t stop thinking about all those terrible things we said. I know we both meant them, and now it’s festering away while we are ignoring the whole spat in favor of making his trip a tiny bit more enjoyable.
My mouth has stopped hurting, but now it is my face that hurts, specifically my upper jaw, which is super sore.
When I came home from class today I sat and cried in the driveway for a little bit. I really shouldn’t let things get so out of control before I try to fix them.
November 24, 2009
I had an appointment today, during which I was weighed, tested for anemia, and had an ultrasound. Apparently I did not meet my target weight, so I got a lecture for that. Then I found out I have anemia and now I have to take iron supplements. All for a good cause. I really need to step it up if I want to do everything my way when it is time to actually give birth.
I’m having my wisdom teeth out tomorrow, and my “care team” (people in charge of corralling me around in my anesthetized state: my mother, J) has expressed concern that I may go toppling over like a tranquilized rhino at some point. Which brings me to this:
When my mother had her wisdom teeth out in the 80s, my grandmother had to drive through all the hairpin Georgia mountains with a crazy-drugged-out daughter in the passenger seat. My mom thought she could fly, and was trying really hard to get out of the vehicle to test out her wings. They ended up getting pulled over because a cop thought my grandma was driving drunk.
Since my mother swears I am just like her, she is convinced I will get out of hand during the ride home, and has purchased a harness of some sort, which she will use to keep me in the car in the event that I sprout wings and try to fly away.
Think of that tomorrow when your day is crappy. I’ll look like a hostage, trussed up in the passenger seat of a Hummer, flapping my arms like a pterodactyl, on the highway, while you are preparing for your Thanksgiving holiday. Enjoy.
November 19, 2009
“In the past few weeks, the top of your uterus has risen above your belly button and is now about the size of a soccer ball.”
Oh, how I laughed. My stomach is no longer the cute “bump” mentioned in all pregnancy-related media. It looks like there is something preparing to burst through my skin like an alien parasite. Or a baby dancing the can-can.
I can’t sleep on my back anymore, and it’s hard to get out of bed. Gizmo likes to sleep with his head on my belly, and I think he was alarmed the first time he felt something MOVE in there, so he keeps moving at night trying to get away from it. Of course, baby is wide awake while I’m trying to sleep, and I imagine a baby jazz player in a night club, smoking a cigar while playing the washboard bass with his feet.
Tomorrow I have my glucose challenge test, and I have to get weighed. Ugh. I knew all those brownies were a bad idea.
November 11, 2009
“Turn on the radio and sway to the music. With her sense of movement well developed by now, your baby can feel you dance.”
Psh. I don’t know about any of the other 23 weeks-pregnant ladies, but I sure as hell don’t feel like dancing. I’m exhausted. It could be something to do with the dental headaches and the pain medication, or it could be the enormous weight hanging off the front of my body. I’m only five feet tall so I look kind of like a pre-teen girl carrying a a yoga ball. With boobs. Gigantic, sore, possibly alien boobs.
I have enough materal instinct to know that water will help with the weight-carrying issues. I dream of swimming pools and private bathrooms for every public facility. I need to get into the water, but I am sketchy on using a public pool, especially to wallow like a dead hippo. I’m considering buying one of those larger inflatable pools and setting it up in my basement. Then I can swim naked. …What? You think I’m going to buy a maternity bathing suit? Not on your life, honey. I look like a red zebra. With boobs. And a yoga ball.
November 3, 2009
I’m sad that almost no one from Xanga is coming to visit my new blog. I realize it’s inconvenient and all that, since it’s not part of the Xanga system and no one likes to venture out of it. BUT. I had no other choice. I need to explore, and Xanga doesn’t have even close to all the options I’ve found on WordPress.
If you’re reading this and you came from the X-neighborhood, please mark yourselves present in the comment section. I need confidence-bolstering affirmations of readership.
November 1, 2009
It’s a good thing Midge doesn’t depend on her sewing skills to survive, because she’d be one dead broad. Having scoured the Internet for costume ideas and coming up empty-handed, she resorted to making her own costume:
She managed to squeeze in, but will she be able to get back out?
October 22, 2009
I know the sex of the baby and you don’t! Ha. I’m just dying to say that. Actually, I’ve known pretty much from the start. That is what happens when you’ve had a bunch of miscarriages and the people in charge of makin’ me a baby start screening my embryos for really bad chromosomal issues and things like that.
My nursery won’t be blue or pink (it’s a hermaphrodite! Have a cigar.) If J doesn’t bust his ass to finish the house, it will be drywall. Or studs, with crepe paper on them. It’s the downtown Cleveland nursery trend that’s sweeping the nation. But, really, he should hurry up, because it’s getting cold and the furnace still isn’t working here. And soon I will enter full-on nesting mode and start demanding some walls to paint and floor to put carpet on.