Still wonder why I'm single?I just realized I sincerely hope that neighbors cannot see into my house. I am actually working from my home office today (and not my bed or chaise, I know, it’s truly remarkable), which is on the first floor of the house and street-facing. It’s excellent for playing Who’s That? Who’s There?, a favorite game that was invented when a group of my friends were all laid off from the same company. True, we were blind drunk when we came up with it, but that shouldn’t hurt the game’s validity.
Anyhow, it’s like 24 degrees in the house today and I still refuse to turn the heat on. The only thing worse than dry heat is the first time you turn the heat on for the season, and all the dust in the ducts burns off. I hate that smell. So here I sit, looking like the Unibomber but more homeless and unkempt and scary, in a black tracksuit with the hood up. Oh, and I have a blanket wrapped around me. And I fell asleep with my hair wet last night, so you can imagine what that is like. All I want is a big mug of hot chocolate that is in reality a mug of marshmallows with some cocoa powder, heated up, but I am trying to be good and am instead drinking lame ass warm milk. I feel guilty that I had a relatively healthy dinner last night of salad, cranberry sauce, and potatoes (look, I said ‘relatively’), and then projectile barfed it all over my walk-in shower. It would have upset me more if it hadn’t been so darn pretty (all that orange carrot peel and red cranberries, it was very festive, although I still didn’t enjoy picking it out of my shower drain). So now I'm giving baby some nice warm unsweetened milk without a chocolate cupcake (shut up, you cupcakes out in the kitchen!). The only downside is that I expect to be completely and utterly asleep within 20 minutes.
I was hoping I’d be one of those people who gets pregnant and their migraines magically go away for nine months, especially since mine are usually triggered by Aunt Flo. No Flo, no go, I figured. I was so wrong. I have had at least four in the past three months. Last night I was so sore afterwards that when I woke up in the middle of the night coughing I was afraid I was going to barf up baby. That’s just uncool.
So I had my first real doctor’s appointment, and made the tragic mistake of falling deeply in love with the very first doctor I met with. I’m going to one of those group practices where there are like 147 doctors that could potentially be on call when I go into labor, so my theory was that I was going to try to meet with a different doc each time I went for an appointment. That theory is shot to hell. I don’t want to see anybody but Dr. Reassuring. He was quietly funny, kindly, experienced (he’s the practice director), open-minded, didn’t hassle me about my weight, listened, and gave me his email address for any time I had questions. I wonder if his wife would let him live with me after I have the baby. So basically, I don’t have a chance of him being the one to deliver me since I adore him so much. My next appointment is December 12, and I will apparently get to learn the baby’s gender at that time. So crazy! Don’t those silly people know I already know it’s a boy? (sorry, baby, if you’re a girl, I hope I’m not giving you some sort of complex already).
My water aerobics class is tonight and I don’t want to go. I’m cold, and tired, and achy, and unshaven. The effort required to get ready is more taxing than the stupid class. And I just realized I didn’t ask Dr. Reassuring for a note that says it’s ok for me to even go, so I have a terrific excuse to avoid the other 26+ week non-vomitting energetic happy mommies.
Anyhow, it’s like 24 degrees in the house today and I still refuse to turn the heat on. The only thing worse than dry heat is the first time you turn the heat on for the season, and all the dust in the ducts burns off. I hate that smell. So here I sit, looking like the Unibomber but more homeless and unkempt and scary, in a black tracksuit with the hood up. Oh, and I have a blanket wrapped around me. And I fell asleep with my hair wet last night, so you can imagine what that is like. All I want is a big mug of hot chocolate that is in reality a mug of marshmallows with some cocoa powder, heated up, but I am trying to be good and am instead drinking lame ass warm milk. I feel guilty that I had a relatively healthy dinner last night of salad, cranberry sauce, and potatoes (look, I said ‘relatively’), and then projectile barfed it all over my walk-in shower. It would have upset me more if it hadn’t been so darn pretty (all that orange carrot peel and red cranberries, it was very festive, although I still didn’t enjoy picking it out of my shower drain). So now I'm giving baby some nice warm unsweetened milk without a chocolate cupcake (shut up, you cupcakes out in the kitchen!). The only downside is that I expect to be completely and utterly asleep within 20 minutes.
I was hoping I’d be one of those people who gets pregnant and their migraines magically go away for nine months, especially since mine are usually triggered by Aunt Flo. No Flo, no go, I figured. I was so wrong. I have had at least four in the past three months. Last night I was so sore afterwards that when I woke up in the middle of the night coughing I was afraid I was going to barf up baby. That’s just uncool.
So I had my first real doctor’s appointment, and made the tragic mistake of falling deeply in love with the very first doctor I met with. I’m going to one of those group practices where there are like 147 doctors that could potentially be on call when I go into labor, so my theory was that I was going to try to meet with a different doc each time I went for an appointment. That theory is shot to hell. I don’t want to see anybody but Dr. Reassuring. He was quietly funny, kindly, experienced (he’s the practice director), open-minded, didn’t hassle me about my weight, listened, and gave me his email address for any time I had questions. I wonder if his wife would let him live with me after I have the baby. So basically, I don’t have a chance of him being the one to deliver me since I adore him so much. My next appointment is December 12, and I will apparently get to learn the baby’s gender at that time. So crazy! Don’t those silly people know I already know it’s a boy? (sorry, baby, if you’re a girl, I hope I’m not giving you some sort of complex already).
My water aerobics class is tonight and I don’t want to go. I’m cold, and tired, and achy, and unshaven. The effort required to get ready is more taxing than the stupid class. And I just realized I didn’t ask Dr. Reassuring for a note that says it’s ok for me to even go, so I have a terrific excuse to avoid the other 26+ week non-vomitting energetic happy mommies.
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