So I know I just went off on Victoria Beckham for never smiling, but I would like to redact that statement. I actually watched her Coming to America show, or whatever it was called, and I was captivated. Not only do I love her overuse of the word "major" (as in "wow, that woman has a major personality!") I found her charming and funny as well. I know she was probably playing it up for the cameras, but I still feel like I saw a side to her that didn't make me want to force-feed her a juicy T-bone in between smacks upon the cheek. Yeah, she's rich and spoiled and impossibly thin, but I don't so much have a problem with that. That scene where she gets invited to a lunch with the neighborhood Socialites (as they call themselves) and then gets drunk while analyzing them in voiceovers was priceless. I mean, those women could not have had more surgery. Could not. They scared me, and I'll betcha five bucks they scared Victoria, too. Those women were major.
Unbelieveably, it's like 80 degrees today and not humid at all. Just thought I'd mention that, seeing how it's nearly the end of July.
Which means I have a week and half to get ready to move. I'm pretty excited about it, even though the move is basically a downgrade. I'm really getting into getting rid of stuff. The crate of crap I'm taking to Goodwill is practically full, and I'm not finished. I'm also rewarding all of this crap removal by slowly purchasing affordable things that will spiff up the apartment a bit, such as new curtains, a shoe rack that hangs on the door, a bamboo rug for the bedroom, etc. I really, really love moving. I can't believe I managed to stay in that apartment for TWO YEARS. I haven't lived anywhere that long since my parents' house.
Some things to do this weekend:
- Celebrate Shelly's birthday with some mini-golf! WOOT!
- Crack open the Borat DVD I bought Micah for his birthday.
- Possibly swim, if it gets hot enough. I love that I can even say that!
- More packing, organizing, chucking.
- Watch Meadowlands, a new show on (I think) Showtime. Rosie O' gives it the thumbs up, and I am nothing if not her biggest fan. Oh, you didn't know? I read her blog every day. Love.
Oh, and from the positive responses I got about that poetry I posted (though of course y'all never use that handy COMMENT feature) I think I might start writing a weekly...thing. Just a...thing. Either poetry or prose or a bit of fiction...something that keeps my creative wheels greased. Because I love having a blog, but sometimes when I reread what I've just written I'm all meh about it. I'd like to try to impress myself and not just get some cheap laughs. Not that you all are cheap. Au contraire, you are luxurious. I'm the cheap one.
Over and out.
7.14.2007
smile, bitch
Victoria Beckham has a lot to be happy about. She's happily married to a man considered among Earth's hottest, she's widely considered a style icon, and together they are playing the fame game with virile swagger. I'm sure you've heard - they're coming to your country next!
So why, pray tell, doesn't Posh ever smile? I've never seen her teeth. I feel extreme validation this morning, because E! News just confirmed my opinion! Don't you just love when that happens? We Americans just won't stand for that cooler-than-the-situation purse of the lips. See over here? We pay big money for our teeth. We want to see yours. So do be a good sunny-bunny and show us you're happy. If celebrities aren't happy...then I just don't know what to aspire to anymore. Somebody told Posh what we think of her and she said she's going to try and smile more. Now everyone knows her smiles won't be genuine.
------------
It must be the summer! Big Brother is back! A show which causes great strife in my life, or rather Micah's life. I repeatedly extol it's entertainment value while Micah goes all intellectual and tries to convince me it's okay to watch more than two hours of cable news every evening. I listen to NPR. I'm as informed as I would like to be. I know he listens whenever he can, too. I can admit I'm addicted to some really trashy programming, but Micah is a bona fide news junkie. Summer looks like it's going to be a season of televisional torture for the hubbs, what with So You Think You Can Dance and a smattering of terrible, additive game shows that rarely last more than one season.
So Big Brother. Have I really been watching it for eight years? Oh god, that's dedication. I remember the first and seventh seasons, but anything in between is just a muddled mess of southern accents, fake breasts, and incredibly inflated egos. It's fucking genius, I tell you. Call me lowbrow. Whatevs.
----------------
Micah asked me why we don't have a baby name book. Precious! Because I am a terrible, selfish person who uses the internet and has had her fill of baby name resources. If it's out there, I've seen it, and chances are I didn't like it. I'm so glad he's thinking about it, though. We've tossed around about five names for a few months now, and we're still no closer to chosing one. I just feel hesitant to try and decide when I'm not totally positive that I've seen every name. I'm open to suggestions, but so far you all haven't uttered a single one! What, did I scare you off?
----------------
Because I'm trying to keep last-minute scrambling to a minimum, I've been slowly packing up this apartment for about two months. Every weekend I'll pack another box or go through another stacked of discarded papers while hovering over my beloved shredder. It actually feels awesome to find a stack of something and start throwing things out. I've been carrying certain things with me from move to move since I moved to Boston almost ten years ago. (Fackin' christ is it almost time for a high school reunion? Noooo. Though my hot husband is great arm candy! In ya face!) Some of the things I can't bear to throw away, with no good explanation:
- a decorative candle of a wise-looking, floppy-eared, old Asian man. It's jade green and in surprisingly good condition. It's too cute to burn, and even if I wanted to I don't think I'm really supposed to - I tried to light it years ago and basically the wick is all for show, ie. decorative.
- a round patch with a horse head given to me at summer camp, where I used to ride everyday, all day, except for a break to take a swimming class. I never learned to dive at camp, and it was the only skill I couldn't master so I could "graduate" and never have to take the required class again. The patch is begging for a permanent home on a piece of fabric, but I just never want to commit to anything like that.
- plastic horses from a cake top. I don't remember which birthday.
- a bag of cassette tapes that got me through not having a CD player in my car for five years. It's crazy that they've made it so far, considering the heavy rotation and my tendency to lose things in the black hole that is Gabby's car. I'll have you know I have been much better at keeping my spaces clean lately, car included. There's a tape player on Micah's record player stereo thingy, so I popped in an Ani Living in Clip mix while I was cleaning this morning. It felt so cool and familiar. I finally forced myself to throw some of them away, like the ones that had obviously spent a sunny afternoon on the dash board, the ones with noticeable nastiness caked on, and a couple without stickers because I don't feel like investigating any further.
- two Polaroid cameras. I'm not sure why I need two, but I always think I'll want to use them for some artsy portrait project or give one away as a fun gift for a creative friend.
- a puppet horse that my Aunt Gloria gave me for Christmas a long time ago. It's in great shape for a stuffed animal. I guess now that I'm having a baby I want her to have it. I might just have to stuff my hand into it and talk to her like a horse. Yeah. She'll love that. And no, I won't demonstrate for you.
- a recommendation letter from my favorite English teacher. It's not that I read it regularly for a ego boost (I swear) I just think it might be useful someday. Do things like that remain relevant ten years later? I must admit I'm having a hard time with this ten year thing. I feel so different than the person I was in high school. So very, very much has happened. 95% of our classmates have no clue what the rest of us have agonized our way through or miraculously overcome since high school. It's a shame, really, because I bet a lot of those details would bond more than divide. I'm voyeuristic enough to have great curiosity about all those people. Not that I'd get that type of information at a reunion, and besides, it's not like I'm even going to a reunion. Right? It depends on how I look by then. Isn't that a sad statement.
---------------
Try pudding in a waffle cone, if you're the type who buys ice cream and cones at the store. Please tell me it's not just me.
---------------
I've officially gained weight during this pregnancy! Two pounds, with just three months to go. And it's not from ice cream cones, thankyouverymuch. It's from pizza, smoothies, fruit roll-ups, and root beer. Okay, ice cream cones too. But I mostly eat fruit and lowfat cottage cheese! This must mean...gasp!...my baby is growing.
So why, pray tell, doesn't Posh ever smile? I've never seen her teeth. I feel extreme validation this morning, because E! News just confirmed my opinion! Don't you just love when that happens? We Americans just won't stand for that cooler-than-the-situation purse of the lips. See over here? We pay big money for our teeth. We want to see yours. So do be a good sunny-bunny and show us you're happy. If celebrities aren't happy...then I just don't know what to aspire to anymore. Somebody told Posh what we think of her and she said she's going to try and smile more. Now everyone knows her smiles won't be genuine.
------------
It must be the summer! Big Brother is back! A show which causes great strife in my life, or rather Micah's life. I repeatedly extol it's entertainment value while Micah goes all intellectual and tries to convince me it's okay to watch more than two hours of cable news every evening. I listen to NPR. I'm as informed as I would like to be. I know he listens whenever he can, too. I can admit I'm addicted to some really trashy programming, but Micah is a bona fide news junkie. Summer looks like it's going to be a season of televisional torture for the hubbs, what with So You Think You Can Dance and a smattering of terrible, additive game shows that rarely last more than one season.
So Big Brother. Have I really been watching it for eight years? Oh god, that's dedication. I remember the first and seventh seasons, but anything in between is just a muddled mess of southern accents, fake breasts, and incredibly inflated egos. It's fucking genius, I tell you. Call me lowbrow. Whatevs.
----------------
Micah asked me why we don't have a baby name book. Precious! Because I am a terrible, selfish person who uses the internet and has had her fill of baby name resources. If it's out there, I've seen it, and chances are I didn't like it. I'm so glad he's thinking about it, though. We've tossed around about five names for a few months now, and we're still no closer to chosing one. I just feel hesitant to try and decide when I'm not totally positive that I've seen every name. I'm open to suggestions, but so far you all haven't uttered a single one! What, did I scare you off?
----------------
Because I'm trying to keep last-minute scrambling to a minimum, I've been slowly packing up this apartment for about two months. Every weekend I'll pack another box or go through another stacked of discarded papers while hovering over my beloved shredder. It actually feels awesome to find a stack of something and start throwing things out. I've been carrying certain things with me from move to move since I moved to Boston almost ten years ago. (Fackin' christ is it almost time for a high school reunion? Noooo. Though my hot husband is great arm candy! In ya face!) Some of the things I can't bear to throw away, with no good explanation:
- a decorative candle of a wise-looking, floppy-eared, old Asian man. It's jade green and in surprisingly good condition. It's too cute to burn, and even if I wanted to I don't think I'm really supposed to - I tried to light it years ago and basically the wick is all for show, ie. decorative.
- a round patch with a horse head given to me at summer camp, where I used to ride everyday, all day, except for a break to take a swimming class. I never learned to dive at camp, and it was the only skill I couldn't master so I could "graduate" and never have to take the required class again. The patch is begging for a permanent home on a piece of fabric, but I just never want to commit to anything like that.
- plastic horses from a cake top. I don't remember which birthday.
- a bag of cassette tapes that got me through not having a CD player in my car for five years. It's crazy that they've made it so far, considering the heavy rotation and my tendency to lose things in the black hole that is Gabby's car. I'll have you know I have been much better at keeping my spaces clean lately, car included. There's a tape player on Micah's record player stereo thingy, so I popped in an Ani Living in Clip mix while I was cleaning this morning. It felt so cool and familiar. I finally forced myself to throw some of them away, like the ones that had obviously spent a sunny afternoon on the dash board, the ones with noticeable nastiness caked on, and a couple without stickers because I don't feel like investigating any further.
- two Polaroid cameras. I'm not sure why I need two, but I always think I'll want to use them for some artsy portrait project or give one away as a fun gift for a creative friend.
- a puppet horse that my Aunt Gloria gave me for Christmas a long time ago. It's in great shape for a stuffed animal. I guess now that I'm having a baby I want her to have it. I might just have to stuff my hand into it and talk to her like a horse. Yeah. She'll love that. And no, I won't demonstrate for you.
- a recommendation letter from my favorite English teacher. It's not that I read it regularly for a ego boost (I swear) I just think it might be useful someday. Do things like that remain relevant ten years later? I must admit I'm having a hard time with this ten year thing. I feel so different than the person I was in high school. So very, very much has happened. 95% of our classmates have no clue what the rest of us have agonized our way through or miraculously overcome since high school. It's a shame, really, because I bet a lot of those details would bond more than divide. I'm voyeuristic enough to have great curiosity about all those people. Not that I'd get that type of information at a reunion, and besides, it's not like I'm even going to a reunion. Right? It depends on how I look by then. Isn't that a sad statement.
---------------
Try pudding in a waffle cone, if you're the type who buys ice cream and cones at the store. Please tell me it's not just me.
---------------
I've officially gained weight during this pregnancy! Two pounds, with just three months to go. And it's not from ice cream cones, thankyouverymuch. It's from pizza, smoothies, fruit roll-ups, and root beer. Okay, ice cream cones too. But I mostly eat fruit and lowfat cottage cheese! This must mean...gasp!...my baby is growing.
7.12.2007
ugh.
Do you know how weird it is to be six months pregnant and STILL be wearing your normal clothes? I've mentioned it before, but when I see the belly pictures of the skinny women on the pregnancy forum, it makes me insanely jealous. I should be thankful that I haven't had to spend money on maternity clothes. I fear that I've gotten off easy so far and that in the very last month suddenly my belly will explode and I'll have to buy bigger clothes for one little month of pregnancy. And I'll be very bitter about that if it happens.
Sometimes, I cry just because it feels good. Tears have never been so accessible. I feel a little dramatic when they come for basically no reason, but it doesn't stop it from feeling good.
If I had the baby today, she'd be able to live outside my womb. She'd probably need assistance breathing, but the fact that she's actually viable is really, really weird. I know I'll end up eating these words, but MAN has this pregnancy flown by.
School continues to be good, though I'm worried about starting a new term in August. Each term is ten weeks, which means I'll be expected to complete my final project a mere 14 days after my dute date. I'm thinking that final project will be the last thing on my mind. I'm not quite sure what to do, because I'm so eager to finish school that I don't want to even take one term off. Nevermind the fact that I've decided to go from two classes to one class after the baby arrives...that's extending my expected graduation by practically a year. Ugh.
The good news is that my new boss is considering hiring a temp until I feel like coming back to work. There are an assload of files here that are very important and frequently accessed for current projects, and considering my new boss works in Indianapolis and all the engineers based out of this office actually work from home mostly, it's really important to have someone here who can find files quickly. I was under the impression all the files would be moving to their respective new homes in KC and Indy, but so far they stay boxed up and shelved (yeah, I boxed them up all by myself, and now I'm bitter because it's annoying as hell to get those fucking heavy boxes down and find things). No one knows what will happen to the boxes. If they are still here several months after I give birth, I just might have a job to come back to. It would only be temporary, because I plan on trying to get what I consider a "real" job once I have that degree. But the fact that my boss is already thinking of having me come back means that perhaps I don't need to freak out about what we'll do about money once our meager savings is gone. Then again, the thought of coming back to this extremely boring job where I am extremely under-utilized does NOT excite me. The money, though? Enticing.
Isn't this the most exciting post EVER? Aren't you so fucking glad you stopped by?
Sometimes, I cry just because it feels good. Tears have never been so accessible. I feel a little dramatic when they come for basically no reason, but it doesn't stop it from feeling good.
If I had the baby today, she'd be able to live outside my womb. She'd probably need assistance breathing, but the fact that she's actually viable is really, really weird. I know I'll end up eating these words, but MAN has this pregnancy flown by.
School continues to be good, though I'm worried about starting a new term in August. Each term is ten weeks, which means I'll be expected to complete my final project a mere 14 days after my dute date. I'm thinking that final project will be the last thing on my mind. I'm not quite sure what to do, because I'm so eager to finish school that I don't want to even take one term off. Nevermind the fact that I've decided to go from two classes to one class after the baby arrives...that's extending my expected graduation by practically a year. Ugh.
The good news is that my new boss is considering hiring a temp until I feel like coming back to work. There are an assload of files here that are very important and frequently accessed for current projects, and considering my new boss works in Indianapolis and all the engineers based out of this office actually work from home mostly, it's really important to have someone here who can find files quickly. I was under the impression all the files would be moving to their respective new homes in KC and Indy, but so far they stay boxed up and shelved (yeah, I boxed them up all by myself, and now I'm bitter because it's annoying as hell to get those fucking heavy boxes down and find things). No one knows what will happen to the boxes. If they are still here several months after I give birth, I just might have a job to come back to. It would only be temporary, because I plan on trying to get what I consider a "real" job once I have that degree. But the fact that my boss is already thinking of having me come back means that perhaps I don't need to freak out about what we'll do about money once our meager savings is gone. Then again, the thought of coming back to this extremely boring job where I am extremely under-utilized does NOT excite me. The money, though? Enticing.
Isn't this the most exciting post EVER? Aren't you so fucking glad you stopped by?
7.04.2007
Happy Fourth, or whatever
It's always fun to have a day off work which requires no excuses.
I was poking around on my computer and found something that made me remember why I love to write, why I love words, yada yada. I miss writing. Like really writing. From a quadrant of my brain that thinks a little more creatively. Or something like that.
----------
far south, near the shuttered paper factory
where the casino lights electrify the water
you pushed a damp whisper into my chin
we were holding hands for the first time
ashamed of my hatred of hand lotion
afraid you’d feel the fissures in my palm and think me rough
you smelled like what your home must
detergent and pretzels, burnt coffee
your hips made me want to build a chair around them
while the hammer was out, I’d build an altar to your lips
swollen pink jelly slugs that catch on your teeth when you speak quickly
teeth not meant to be orderly and tampon-white
the dent in your cheek, the oil slick on your crooked nose
things that made me the feel distinctly, entirely breakable
a herd of glass buffalo attempting ballet
a creature like you seems formed from absolute zero
no memory of mistakes or errors in evolution
imperfect brilliance sketched, crafted, accounted for.
----------
A funny little something:
Yesterday I was standing in the kitchen waiting for Avery to eat his food so I could let him out. Which is what I do every morning. He's so excited that everyone's awake that sometimes it takes awhile to get him to actually finish. Anyway, I was standing there watching him and suddenly I let out a fart that sounded like a machine gun. Popopopopppp. Avery spat out his whole mouthful of food, like he was afraid the food might be made of dynamite. It scared the crap outta him! And oh, did I laffff and laffff.
---------
Another funny happening was something Micah said. He has the most unexpected sense of humor. I mean his timing is unexpected and he can be so clever. God, now I'm just filling you with expectations, it probably won't even be funny anymore.
We were watching that show Dirty Jobs and Mike, the host, was helping in a bell factory. Where they made bells. One of the essential ingredients in a bell is manure, much to Mike's (and our) surprise. Before they got around to explaining it, I said, "I wonder why they need manure? That's so weird!" and Micah replied, "It's the part that makes the bell go dunggg, dunggg."
I'm still cracking up about that twenty-four hours later.
--------
I hope you eat BBQ and see some fireworks today. Cyndi Lauper is playing for free downtown tonight. I've actually known about this for awhile and kept thinking it would be so cool to go, but I never brought it up and now it's tonight and most people have plans already. Micah and I could just go, but...I am so against that fucking crowd that gathers down there on the Fourth. It's just kind of overwhelming. I'm such a dud sometimes. But it requires parking, chairs, orienting to toilets because I'll have to go all the the time, and I know it's going to be hot. I need to get my cool back, though, fo' reals. Boorrrrrinnnngggg.
I was poking around on my computer and found something that made me remember why I love to write, why I love words, yada yada. I miss writing. Like really writing. From a quadrant of my brain that thinks a little more creatively. Or something like that.
----------
far south, near the shuttered paper factory
where the casino lights electrify the water
you pushed a damp whisper into my chin
we were holding hands for the first time
ashamed of my hatred of hand lotion
afraid you’d feel the fissures in my palm and think me rough
you smelled like what your home must
detergent and pretzels, burnt coffee
your hips made me want to build a chair around them
while the hammer was out, I’d build an altar to your lips
swollen pink jelly slugs that catch on your teeth when you speak quickly
teeth not meant to be orderly and tampon-white
the dent in your cheek, the oil slick on your crooked nose
things that made me the feel distinctly, entirely breakable
a herd of glass buffalo attempting ballet
a creature like you seems formed from absolute zero
no memory of mistakes or errors in evolution
imperfect brilliance sketched, crafted, accounted for.
----------
A funny little something:
Yesterday I was standing in the kitchen waiting for Avery to eat his food so I could let him out. Which is what I do every morning. He's so excited that everyone's awake that sometimes it takes awhile to get him to actually finish. Anyway, I was standing there watching him and suddenly I let out a fart that sounded like a machine gun. Popopopopppp. Avery spat out his whole mouthful of food, like he was afraid the food might be made of dynamite. It scared the crap outta him! And oh, did I laffff and laffff.
---------
Another funny happening was something Micah said. He has the most unexpected sense of humor. I mean his timing is unexpected and he can be so clever. God, now I'm just filling you with expectations, it probably won't even be funny anymore.
We were watching that show Dirty Jobs and Mike, the host, was helping in a bell factory. Where they made bells. One of the essential ingredients in a bell is manure, much to Mike's (and our) surprise. Before they got around to explaining it, I said, "I wonder why they need manure? That's so weird!" and Micah replied, "It's the part that makes the bell go dunggg, dunggg."
I'm still cracking up about that twenty-four hours later.
--------
I hope you eat BBQ and see some fireworks today. Cyndi Lauper is playing for free downtown tonight. I've actually known about this for awhile and kept thinking it would be so cool to go, but I never brought it up and now it's tonight and most people have plans already. Micah and I could just go, but...I am so against that fucking crowd that gathers down there on the Fourth. It's just kind of overwhelming. I'm such a dud sometimes. But it requires parking, chairs, orienting to toilets because I'll have to go all the the time, and I know it's going to be hot. I need to get my cool back, though, fo' reals. Boorrrrrinnnngggg.
7.02.2007
what a girl wants
Just one aspect of why being pregnant is so foreign and alienating: you become a tortured hedonist.
I declare myself a hedonist. When I don't want to go to work, I don't. I rarely feel bad about it. When I want to procrastinate in favor of reading blogs or plucking my eyebrows, I do. I watch mind-numbingly stupid reality shows and complain if Micah wants to watch the news for more than an hour. I like to be happy. I like to indulge.
Because I'm pregnant, I can't always do that. One of my biggest cravings lately is sushi, which I obviously can't have. Last year, for the very first time, I had good sushi. Until that time I had only eaten the kind you buy at the grocery store that comes with a pack of soy sauce and a hunk of wasabi. This good sushi experience I had was kind of a religious experience for me. It took two hours. I felt free to order more because sushi isn't so filling. Sure, it set us back over $100 (with generous cocktail consumption) but it was well worth it.
I can't have sushi, cocktails, cigarettes, soft cheeses (oh Brie, baby, I'll be back soon!), or even lunch meat because of listeria. That means no Quiznos, no Subway, no easy-peasy turkey sandwiches when I don't feel like cooking. (Ok, fine, I could have lunch meat if I steamed it first, but honestly who the fuck wants steamed lunch meat?)
So that's the tortured part. But within the torture there is hedonism, because I AM PREGNANT, which pretty much means if I can have it, I shall have it whenever, wherever, in whatever portions I deem fit. Slurpees, for instance. Yeah, ok, sugar ain't so great for me...I know I'm at risk for gestational diabetes just like every other gestating woman, but COME ON. There has got to be some give with all the take.
I cannot stop thinking about all the alcoholic bevies I will consume. Even though it is not my intention to start smoking cigarettes again, I fully intend to buy myself a pack of Camel Lights and smoke the hell outta them while I'm out having drinks that first lovely postpartum evening. What I don't finish I'll give away. But I am definitely at the point where all the things I'm not allowed to have consume my thoughts.
I am the tortured hedonist. It sucks. Yes, it's worth it, and as the kicking in my belly continues to get stronger, I realize that certain sacrifices will always be worth it. Did I tell you I haven't gained a pound since getting pregnant? Fat = awesome so very rarely, I must boast about it.
I declare myself a hedonist. When I don't want to go to work, I don't. I rarely feel bad about it. When I want to procrastinate in favor of reading blogs or plucking my eyebrows, I do. I watch mind-numbingly stupid reality shows and complain if Micah wants to watch the news for more than an hour. I like to be happy. I like to indulge.
Because I'm pregnant, I can't always do that. One of my biggest cravings lately is sushi, which I obviously can't have. Last year, for the very first time, I had good sushi. Until that time I had only eaten the kind you buy at the grocery store that comes with a pack of soy sauce and a hunk of wasabi. This good sushi experience I had was kind of a religious experience for me. It took two hours. I felt free to order more because sushi isn't so filling. Sure, it set us back over $100 (with generous cocktail consumption) but it was well worth it.
I can't have sushi, cocktails, cigarettes, soft cheeses (oh Brie, baby, I'll be back soon!), or even lunch meat because of listeria. That means no Quiznos, no Subway, no easy-peasy turkey sandwiches when I don't feel like cooking. (Ok, fine, I could have lunch meat if I steamed it first, but honestly who the fuck wants steamed lunch meat?)
So that's the tortured part. But within the torture there is hedonism, because I AM PREGNANT, which pretty much means if I can have it, I shall have it whenever, wherever, in whatever portions I deem fit. Slurpees, for instance. Yeah, ok, sugar ain't so great for me...I know I'm at risk for gestational diabetes just like every other gestating woman, but COME ON. There has got to be some give with all the take.
I cannot stop thinking about all the alcoholic bevies I will consume. Even though it is not my intention to start smoking cigarettes again, I fully intend to buy myself a pack of Camel Lights and smoke the hell outta them while I'm out having drinks that first lovely postpartum evening. What I don't finish I'll give away. But I am definitely at the point where all the things I'm not allowed to have consume my thoughts.
I am the tortured hedonist. It sucks. Yes, it's worth it, and as the kicking in my belly continues to get stronger, I realize that certain sacrifices will always be worth it. Did I tell you I haven't gained a pound since getting pregnant? Fat = awesome so very rarely, I must boast about it.
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