Now Go Shop

Because I know that the internets sit around and wait on me to post about what products I am using I have to tell y'all about my skin. I believe I have mentioned (whined like a little girl who let go of her balloon) that my skin got jacked by the pregnancy hormones about a month ago. I was so broken out and hideous. And then, to make matters more interesting it got dry as hell a few weeks ago as well. Which are two problems that really don't play all that nicely together. My skin was flaking off in sheets and breaking out like I was getting ready for the seventh grade dance. AWFUL.

So I finally caved and thought I would treat the dryness first, since it couldn't be helping the acne situation. I took Amalah's advice, and used some certificates on Philosophy's Purity cleanser and Hope in a Jar moisturizer. I'd been using Hope in a Bottle but that is really more of a treatment than a moisturizer and since I was mimicking a desert here I took the plunge.

So Amalah is brilliant. Because as much as it pains me to spend 20 bucks on a cleanser (but I had a certificate and a discount--and apparently care too much if the internet thinks I spend too much on skin care) but these two products are really making a difference for me. A week later and my skin is so much smoother and softer without resulting in an oil slick. The acne is slowly coming around but you know, still pregnant, so I am not expecting miracles.

My other issue has been my sinuses, which are not congested but just swell and ache and cause all kinds of angst (and wrinkles in my face--goddamn I am a sexy beast). I went all DEF CON 5 on my sinuses with allergy pills and a humidifier but what has done the most good is the nasal rinse.

Pregnant ladies and allergy sufferers everywhere, run DO NOT WALK, to the drugstore and spend your ten dollars. Yes, it is gross to propel water up your nose (and have it come out your mouth a little) and yes, the first time I did it something grey came out (and I screamed IS THAT MY BRAIN?!?!) but now I am like a little crack whore for my nasal rinser. It clears my head, gets rid of that ache, takes the swelling out of my eyes. Brilliant.

If more than a little disgusting.

Alone

J spent most of the week out of town for a work event. He came back Thursday night and then left again this morning for his high school reunion. Fool actually wanted to go to his (I avoided mine like the damn plague honestly). I guess I understand. He grew up poor and was on his own so young that really it is against all odds that he would become as successful as he has. I think he wants to flip off all the people who were mean to him. I am sure he will have a great time.

I spent my time getting my hair all prettified (it has morphed into the PYRAMID OF DOOM lately, when my hairdresser's dad cut it last time he hesitated to cut off enough). Maybe now I will stop rocking the ponytail every day. I think I am at the point where I need to put a little more effort into my appearance or I am going to start getting depressed.

I do miss J when he is gone, even though he has been out so much the past couple of months that I am a lot more used to it. I do love having the bed to myself though, I can't lie there.

Pregnancy is a lonely experience, which is something that I didn't expect. You wouldn't think you could be lonely, the baby is right with you after all. But no one is really doing it with you, even your partner (if you have one) isn't changing at the rate that you are. And of course, everyone has a damn opinion about what you are doing, eating, how you look, etc. It's isolating. I am grateful for it, of course I am after everything that we have been through, but I can't help but miss the old days. But the old days aren't coming back.

Ever.

Petty Moment

Allow me my lunchtime pettiness.

If you are wearing flip flops with a skirt suit I will laugh at you. If your shoes are so uncomfortable that you can’t stand to wear them for the three block walk to the deli than you are ridiculous and need new shoes. Obviously, you don’t care about looking cute so I doubt your “real shoes” are anything so special. The fact that these are red polka dot flip flops only makes it worse. That you did this on a day when it is pouring down rain and is less than sixty degrees makes you even funnier. Then you splashed in a puddle outside of the alley where all the homeless people like to urinate. PLEASE BUY SOME REAL SHOES.

Speaking of the homeless, when standing in line to buy soup (y’all it was COLD today) this homeless kid like horns in line in front of me to get crackers from the counter guy. Shoved me straight out of the way. I was making the WTF face behind him as the counter guy patiently gives him the crackers. Then I feel like a jerk for being impatient. But still! Not only are you trying to gank free food (he also wanted free soup) from a place that charges for it (so he wouldn’t have to walk all the way down to the soup kitchen!) but you shoved aside the people who were waiting to pay for it. Because your time is so much more valuable than their’s!

I am still probably an a**hole huh?

Checking In

My lands it has been a while. I've been busy . . .not doing much honestly. Gestating wildly. My stomach now hangs over my pants in an alarming rendition of beer gut. I bump into things with it and also my boobs which are . . . well huge judging by how J's eyes occasionally widen when I taken my shirt off.

J has taken to telling people that I am getting big which may be true if I were not pregnant but it's only going to get bigger and sadder from here. The glee with which he forwarded a FRIGHTENING belly pic of a friend of our's wife is the best reason so far that we will be taking pictures of that nature of me. Because he is already telling people that I am a fatty and I don't need photographic proof floating around.

I see people looking at me and they are clearly trying to decide if I just do not have the decency to suck it in or if I am pregnant. I suspect all doubt will be removed here pretty quickly but it's a little weird.

This weekend we went to my pal L's son's first birthday party. When I say we I mean my mom and I because J is a big fucking baby about going to social events that do not revolve around him. This actually worked well because I hadn't seen my mom in a month and we chatted away and contemplated stealing the guest of honor who was just so damn cute.

I felt bad though, because as the only white people there we were clearly freaking the guests out. People kept checking on us, trying to get us to eat more, fretting about whatever. I hate being the stressful guest, especially since we were so happy.

Of course if they had wanted to hand over baby O as a party favor I think my mom would have accepted gladly. And run like hell.

My Grandfather Misspelled My Mother's Name Causing Years of Beuracratic Mistakes So I Guess This is Traditional

I was thinking today about how I don't know how to spell my middle name.

That sounds ridiculous doesn't it? I am 28 years old. I am reasonably intelligent. I should know how to spell my own fucking name right? But I don't and neither do my parents.

My middle name is Ann, or Anne (everyone who thought my real first name is Anyabeth and just realized how cruel Anyabeth Ann(e) would be I am sorry). Growing up my mother taught me to spell it Anne, which is how my grandmother's name is spelled. That is how it was spelled on my school records and on my social security card.

Fast forward to applying for my driver's permit, and the yet unnoticed discrepancy on my birth certificate. ANN. No e.

My mother says that since my middle name is from my grandmother's name that of course it would be spelled the same way (this makes stylistic sense too, because my sister's middle name Suzanne has an e--or DOES IT? Shit, I THINK IT DOES). My dad claims that they didn't want her to think it was for her, they just like the name, so of course they didn't spell it that way.

My guess is since in the 70's in Iowa father's filled out the birth certificate, my dad spelled it his way, and when my mom applied for my social security number she spelled it her way. And they never actually talked about it.

So when I added J's last name to my name (somehow keeping all three of my prior names) I think I decided what spelling to use.

I just can't remember which one it was.

BRILLIANT

Sleepy Sunday

Yesterday we ran errands and spent too much money on stuff for J for four hours and I came home napped for three hours and then went to bed for good for ten hours. Apparently, I can only handle an hour of activity per day now.

Which is just a damn shame because today I made an emergency start for J's softball team. I've played on this team for years but in the current condition I've been sidelined for the year. But they only had one female player for today (a double header) and if you know anything about co-ed teams--well your team actually has to be co-ed in order to be allowed to play. So, I agreed to play if they could find another girl.

Before anyone has a stroke there were very specific conditions at work here. I caught, and was not to get into any confrontations at the plate (any play the pitcher was going to cover). When I hit I could run to first and then use a courtesy runner.

And it was fine. No problems at all. We were very competitive the first game and then the second team didn't show so we won that game. Which thank god, because it was SO HOT out there I could barely move. If we had actually had to play the second game I might not have made it.

I am officially in the second trimester now and I actually feel really good. KNOCKING VIGOROUSLY ON WOOD. All things considered I am hoping the worst is over and I will cruise through the next few months.

Of course given my history I probably need to go to bed right now from all this activity.

Updates

I came home from New York with a heavy dusting of acne all over my face. I am not sure if it was caused by the weather change (such extreme humidity coupled with dryness in air conditioning), the fact that I forgot my facial cleanser and used hotel soap (I KNOW), that pregnancy has made me look ugly in every other way so why not this one, or because I had shat in HELP ME twelve days.

Since I've been back I've been coating my face with a steady diet of acne serum which is clearing it up pretty quickly but also is causing a wee bit of dryness in certain areas. Like just under my nose I pulled off approximately 82 pounds of flaking skin this afternoon. Which is just as sexy as you are picturing.

The Cubs are tied for first. I have nothing to say about that. Just picture me clapping and cheering randomly throughout the day.

At some point between thirteen and fourteen weeks you are supposed to wake up and feel good. Have more energy, not want to DIE anymore. This morning I woke up much less queasy and was like OOOH MAYBE. But sadly I threw up in a baggie on the bus tonight so NO.

Sandwich Ecstasy

J left on a business trip Sunday night and my dogs have been hopeless mopes ever since. I'm told that they did the same thing when I was gone but I didn't have to deal with that so I don't care (actually that isn't true, I was happy they missed me and they can miss him but can we stop wailing by the window like I am beating you with a crowbar please?). J takes care of a few things in the house that I just am unwilling to do. Or hate. OR AM TOO LAZY FOR FINE OK?

So I've been walking the dogs and getting up in the middle of the night to regulate the pug/kitty races on the stairs and tomorrow I will drag the damn trash cans to the curb. BAH. Dude needs to get his ass home. I hate walking the dogs.

My dad took me out to lunch today. Since I've been pregnant I've had a hard time eating. I am not eating enough, I know that is part of what is making me sick, but I am struggling. Nothing sounds or tastes good. Things cause me to retch. Food is complicated and frustrating and I just want to skip it. But the rule is, that if I really want something I must have it right away. RIGHT AWAY. This weekend, while J and I were cleaning the house, I wanted one of those Costco hot dogs with onions and ketchup SO BADLY. I could barely stand it. And J is a sport, so we finished up and went to Costco on a SATURDAY. That is love people. I snorked that thing down and it was so good I CRIED. Just a little. But man, that was the best five minutes I had had in weeks. So today my dad takes me out to lunch and about midnight last night it hits me. I need a fish sandwich from this place at the Market. They make great fish and the bread is fresh and toasted and I am pretty sure coated in lard and their tartar is full of mayo and it is SO GOOD. And I needed that sandwich. So my dad agrees that we can go there (perhaps he was afraid to disagree?) and I am SHAKING with excitement when we order. And when the waiter comes I clap. I could not help myself.

Goddamn that was a good sandwich.

The Only One

J and I are going to have just one child.

I am amazed how many people are appalled by this. Actually I am shocked that people feel the right to have an opinion on it at all. Which is why I tell people shit because meh, no one is ever happy. But if it comes up people just freak out if you say you are just having one. It is only vaguely acceptable if you are like forty, but if you are young like us, having one child is a crime against nature or something.

I am actually not against having two--I think most people imagine the family they grew up in as being normal. But I am not sure. J is positive he doesn't want two. And I do think that every child has the right to be wanted. There is no point in having one that the father doesn't want if it can be avoided.

I know many people who are close to their siblings, where their sister or brother is their best friend. And I do think that it is a relationship that cannot be recreated in any other way. But there are no guarantees. My mother barely speaks to her brother. My father can only handle his sister in small doses. My sister and I have had stages when we were close and stages when we were not. I think we are currently working towards closeness. What I mean is, that blood relationship means shit if the two people can't get on. I don't think having a sibling means you won't grow up to be lonely or a psychopath.

If it were that easy to insulate your child I would totally do it.

J has a welfare child's fear of poverty. And he is desperate to never have more kids than he can afford. Which is admirable and practical. And while I think he is silly to think we cannot afford two children (I mean we can't afford them today but I think someday we would be alright) I can't really discount that we could do a lot more for one than we could two. College and sports and medical care--those things cost money. And you can only stretch money so far. And I think a lot of people who grow up poor have a real urge to give their kids the best of everything. I will try to pull him back from that but I can't pretend that he is wrong.

There is also that if you only have one you outnumber the kid. That is a powerful position. And given the whole vomity Epstein-Barr episode of the last six weeks, I am not really eager beavering to give pregnancy another whirl.

But honestly, people act as if we have announced that we are planning to raise our child to be an axe murderer. I do know some lovely only children you know.

We could change our minds, stranger things have happened. But really, the way people push the multi-child agenda it makes me think one is the way to go. It feels like a bait and switch really. Like they will lure us in with angel baby and then number two will be a whirling dervish of destruction and mayhem.

Home Sweet Home

I am here to say that a business trip in the middle of summer to New York while you are barfy pregnant is just as delightful as you might imagine.

It went ok, all things considered. I just barely managed all the social obligations of the trip but did fine with the professional ones. I walked all over NY to find the Yankees Clubhouse Store so that I could buy J presents (including an outfit for the freeloader, who we have decided will be a 49er fan, a Penguins fan, a Cubs fan and a Yankees fan at least until he/she can talk). I schmoozed and I raked people over the coals. I managed not to smack people who got too personal. And in the middle of this my belly got er LARGER. To the point that when I got back Thursday, J was determined not to mention it but I let him off the hook and he was like yeah you look PREGNANT now.

NY is a weird place to me. Not nearly as exciting as people want you to believe. New Yorkers will always talk about the energy of the place but really, there are just a lot of people there. People who think where they live is the center of the fucking universe so I think the energy they are speaking of is just arrogance and narcissism.

I did have room service for the first time in my life (room service being one of many things my father tainted for me because they are a rip off). I was sick enough Wednesday (Zofran, not really wonder drugging it for me right now ALAS) that I bailed on my final dinner (which was not a business dinner or I would have toughed it out) and ordered in and watched the Cubs game. And passed out at like 9:30 (what I had an early flight). I am a WILD WOMAN.

I did sort of enjoy the room service bit. Even if a sandwich and fruit was FORTY FUCKING DOLLARS. I wasn't paying. And they brought the whole linen table cloth, multiple forks, silver domed trays extravaganza to my room like I was fancy or something.

During my trip I had people ask me about my sex life, offer to take me to a strip club, not understand why pregnant women cannot do shots and was paid to look at a guy in very small underwear. I also saw the Versace store, found out it is very true you can't get a cab when it rains and met a Little Person nun.

I am still exhausted and grateful to be home.

NY, NY

This week is the busiest week of the year for me professionally. We have a giant work event, which had me out of the office for the end of Thursday and all of Friday. Then I flew to New York yesterday to be in meetings all damn week. This is exhausting under the best of circumstances but pregnant. I got in last night, not even that late and it was all I could do to lay in my bed eating snacks and watching crappy hotel cable.

J was a peach (AGAIN--how does he keep this up) and went and got Harry Potter for me at midnight Friday. So that I could read it on my flight. I have to say I devoured that book. I was sort of dreading it, because it was the end and I was so worried she wouldn't finish it properly. But it was such an action packed book (NO SPOILERS DO NOT WORRY) and, at least for me, was a satisfying end. I finished it in record time (crying, so much crying) and re-read the end to make sure.

That book was the only thing that got me through the flight as I was hot and cold at the same time, sitting in front of this very annoying woman who was nattering about freezing bass in water to prevent freezer burn for TWO HOURS and I was starving, despite my snacks.

And then my suitcase was the last one off, which made the chimes of DOOM DOOM DOOM ring in my head because I had packed all the paper for my meetings in my suitcase (so much paper and it is so very heavy). Also, I can imagine trying to find business clothes to fit my weird body would be really difficult. Even in NY. I finally get my bag, get to my hotel and there is drama about my corporate card at the desk and BLECH. I've had computer problems and a really creepy guy follow me for blocks and had crappy french toast for breakfast this morning.

On the plus side, when I booked my room I was supposed to share it with some one else. And she ended up not making the trip. But we booked the upgrade room in hopes it would be larger thinking we would need extra space. And it is fancy. I have a couch and a cordless phone (plus a desk phone and a phone in the bathroom) which is hilarious because this is New York it's not like it's a big room. And it's separated from the hallway with an extra door. And the left me treats so I think the staff thinks I am much fancier than I am. Which is fine, bring up more of those pralines please! But don't charge me because they are already being weird about my card!

Also, I forgot the card that lets me log into our system when I am not on the network. It's on my key chain at the fucking valet is SEATTLE. We are telling NO ONE this as I have figured something out. And it makes me look rather unprofessional and stupid. I blame the pregnancy brain though. . .eh it's probably just me being stupid.

We're telling NO ONE.

Tonight the business starts with dinners and BLAH. But maybe some one will get me something delicious.

He Is Just a Champ

As much as I adore J I often forget or overlook or whatever don't appreciate him properly. He really has been a champ about this whole pregnancy nonsense. I have been a wee bit needy, weepy and vomity and just sort of a mess.

So here is a list of lovely things that J has done in the last couple of months that have earned him thousands of pounds of goodwill and I probably owe him eighty-four thousand blow jobs (which lets face it I probably will not allow him to cash in well EVER). It's a pretty long list and I need to have it recorded so the next time he ruins one of the LAST TOPS THAT I HAVE THAT FITS ME WELL I will not overreact and shove his face into the garbage disposal.

1. Made sympathetic noises while I barf (discounting that time that he callously watched me puke into the garbage disposal).

2. Let me sleep in every possible day, never making me get up to take the dogs out.

3. Listened to every rant I have had about the maternity wear industrial complex, the scary princess conspiracy and WHY ARE PEOPLE SO JUDGEY ABOUT ME NOT BUYING ORGANIC.

4. Kept buying different kinds of cereal in case one became magical and stopped the pukey.

5. Badgered the doctor into giving me meds for the puking and then bullied me into filling said prescription.

6. Bought me a new laptop (well not NEW NEW but new to me) for very little money and then set it up so it's all lovely and shiny.

7. Bought me ice cream on demand.

8. Slept in the guest room on hot nights as to not make me all sweaty. Also easier access for night peeing.

9. He has done all the laundry and dishes for more than a month.

10. No complaining about #9.

I'll hate him soon, but at the moment I think he is just dreamy.

Well except that he is losing all this weight and getting buff and making many many jokes about porking old girlfriends at his high school reunion that I am not going to and am frankly am too insecure and immature for at the moment.

BLISSFUL

I won't torture y'all with my poem about Zofran--the wonder drug that has changed my fucking world. I threw up every day at least once for two weeks. I feel nauseated every second of every day for longer than that. Imagine being carsick for 14 days straight and tell me how chipper you would be. My doctor prescribed a drug, which worked somewhat, but all it meant is that every time I felt sick I was definitely puking.

Zofran just takes that away. It's a million dollars and god bless my OB's office who stalked my insurance company (unbeknownst to me, I had no idea that they were even trying) and made this happen. But Zofran makes you feel normal. Oh y'all, that squeal of rapture you just heard is every pregnant woman in America imagining that shit. This is totally worth the fleeting, but still there, fear that my kid is going to have to go through school with the nickname Flipper. Kids can be so cruel to those with fins instead of left hands.

Don't get me wrong, the other symptoms are still around. I am not my normal self. But for the first time I am not reduced to tears at thinking about the fact that if everything goes well I will be pregnant at least 26 more weeks. That is a long fucking time y'all.

In other news I can no longer suck it in. As an American woman I learned to suck in my stomach at like twelve years old. My stomach is flat(tish) normally but I can make it perfect if necessary. Well, correction, I could do that, because those days are over. It stubbornly pooches out and is hard as a goddamn rock. It's not baby at this stage (though my book helpfully mentions that by next week the baby will be the size of a mouse, thank you people who do not realize how fucking terrified I am of mice and now one is MY BABY?) but gas and fluid and god knows what else. I caved an bought maternity clothes. Because when I lost weight a couple of summers ago I made the decision never to run around in gaping waists again and had everything tailored down. So I am down to one pair of pants that button and I doubt they will button by the end of my business trip in a couple of weeks.

Maternity clothes are a fucking racket. Because the ones I bought were cuter and nicer than most I have seen around (and not much more expensive because DAMN everything costs a million dollars) and they will work. But I would never pay that much for that quality for regular clothes. In my next life I am becoming a maternity designer.

I am slogging through it all, during the busiest time of the year work wise, getting ready for my trip and watching my stomach in HORROR.

But I am not puking daily anymore (this could stop tomorrow in which case we will be back to all woe all the time) and it is BLISS.

Fucking Failure

I am filled with all kinds of angst today, angst that is probably brought on by equal parts hormones and fatigue and phlegm dripping down my throat. I am so tired that I feel every single bone in my body, each one, down to the last distal philange. I felt dizzy this morning and went to lay in the office cot room--thinking I would be ten minutes and feel fine. I stumbled upstairs after a forty minute nap. After lunch I had a brief black out and my desk. Like some sort of drunken sorority girl.

Being pregnant is hard. And since I don't look pregnant (except to me because I am huge y'all but everyone else just thinks I am fat) I don't think people understand. I think until a woman looks like a characterature, until she is a fucking cartoon, people assume she is normal. But there is a dreadful cocktail in my body that demands that I eat while making me projectile vomit--get carsick for a couple of months straight and see how chipper you are.

I already feel the working mom stress. And there is no kid. Because I can tell my boss thinks less of me. Maybe I am imagining it. But she was like "You better not throw up while we are in NY," oh well since you SAY SO. I just enjoy it so I haven't been able to help myself. I don't want to lose my job or have people think that I am unprofessional because I am pregnant. But I can't pretend that I am at my peak of work performance. I am getting things done but it is hard. I maintain it's no different than when people are sick or have personal issues that need dealing with outside of work but I know it feels different. I don't want to be the girl that sets back feminism thirty years because she gets a little woozy in the afternoons and has to go home.

I desperately do not want next week to happen. It is an intense, on your feet work event, followed by a cross-country flight and then meeting after meeting with dinners late into the evening. It is an opportunity to network and really get a lot of things accomplished and to shine professionally. I made great impressions last trip. This trip I am pretty sure I am going to come off stupid. And I hate that. I hate feeling less than capable. But what can I do? I am truly doing everything that I can.

And it's just not good enough.

Morality From Uncle Chris?

Since I just cannot stop puking my doctor prescribed another damn medication. Which my insurance refuses to cover. And it is 1300 hundred dollars.

So I guess I will keep vomiting.

One thing cheered me up. Uncle Chris spent most of last month in Chicago and bought out the Wrigleyville store for me. He sent some awesome t-shirts for me, a pink hat (which was a lovely and thoughtful idea even if I RAIL against the pink sporting goods industrial complex), and a onsie for what he termed the player to be named later.

He doesn't like people to know he is a nice guy but he is awesome.

I offered to lie to whatever hootch he is trying to bend over a bar this week but he said no need.

I am confused by this display of morals.

Dreaming

Last week I had a forty-eight hour period when I threw up every single thing I ate or drank. So J nagged me into getting some anti-nausea medication.

Which doesn't actually work. Ok, it does a little, I don't currently want to die, but I still throw up and I still feel nauseated so I am not sure that was worth my ten dollar copay plus my kid possibly having a fin.

I have officially tried everything and the nurse recommended no longer drinking water, stop taking my vitamin and sacrificing a virgin at midnight. But who knows any virgins in this day and age?

So mainly I am just lying around, eating tiny snacks in small slow bites and waiting for these fucking weeks to past. While trying to manage during one of my busiest times at work.

I haven't actually thrown up on my boss or anything though.

In other news J is getting in shape. Part of me applauds this decision as men in his family have a nasty habit of dropping dead awfully young. The other part of me resents him trying to look all foxy while I am just trying to find pants that button. He has big plans to get cut arms and email them to my friend L in hopes that I don't know, that she will pass out in ecstasy?

A guy can dream.

Holiday Week

Because I am a fool, and (in my defense) because summer doesn't start in Seattle until July 5, I neglected to wear sunscreen to J's Fourth of July softball game. I roasted myself like a red pepper and well, it's just sad seeing as I got more burned than I did in Hawaii. Then we came home and ate summer sausage with cheese and crackers and a lot of steak. Apparently, one does not celebrate our great nation with vegetables.

Only meat.

J had invited some people over and though they said they were coming many fewer actually showed. This is why I do not have a ton of friends. If people did that to me I would be crushed and angry and take it personally (I mean there are legit reasons that this could happen of course). J shrugs this off and thinks nothing of it.

I am not really sure who is the higher evolved person. I am certain that his friends have worse manners than baboons.

There were about seven people total at my office all week which led me to have record breaking productivity. I had many things to get done, which my main reason for not "wasting" my vacation days, I did none of them. Which since I am leaving on a big business trip in two weeks means that I am a moron.

But a moron with MANNERS.

Take What You Can Get And Run Like Hell

Y'all I learned a very important lesson today.

It is possible to barf up an entire hot fudge sundae into a ziplock baggie while driving a car sixty miles an hour on the freeway.

And no one died.

While I am naturally sad that I wasted perfectly good ice cream (which my friend L got for me because she RULES, she also told me today that I don't look that bad--those two things were the best things that happened to me today), I did get something out of it. Ziplocks work really well for on the go barfing--you can shove most of your face in there (I did get a drop or two on my pants but I think if I hadn't been driving the car and trying not to crash this wouldn't have been an issue) and then zip it up when you are done so you don't have to smell that curdled milk smell all the way home.

I am totally putting some empties in my purse. Since the one I used this time was full of wheat thins (I was totally debating in my head where I could put said wheat thins and then DECISION MADE), hot fudge puke plus wheat thins smells and looks pretty horrible. If y'all couldn't figure that out on your own.

Then I came home and took a nap.

I am eternally grateful that I was not on the bus when this happened. And also that I had the baggie. Also, that I didn't crash. I am pretty sure some people in the car pool lane were staring at me but it's not like I have dignity at this point so stare away.

Grossest thing? Was immediately starving, the gut wrenchingly starving but the only I had were those wheat thins and fuck I wasn't eating those.

Best thing? For ten minutes I felt normal. I didn't feel sick, I had energy, I was singing with the radio. I had this flash of this is how I used to feel, this is what happy feels like. I mean it was gone right after but still ten minutes of happy. I'll take what I can get.

Because Nine Hours Of Sleep Is Not Enough

In the past couple of days I have watched J lose two softball games (and obsess about the first one enough that I HATE the guys that played in that outfield that game because LORD catch the BALL! My husband has been mumbling about that shit in his sleep ever since and I hate you!). I kept score both games so perhaps I am bad luck? Twice today I had to rush the bathroom to barf and that sucked. And now I do not even feel better after I throw up. J's plan to have just one baby is looking better and better.

In happier news I have a new niece! My sister got a puppy this weekend and I am so excited. I just love puppies and that puppy smell. I do not love puppy shit in crates and trying to get puppies to walk on leashes. When I think about that I look at my greying dogs and am so glad that they just want to lay in this bed all the time.

I have never been so tired in my life y'all. According the the internets the Spawn lost it's tail this week and maybe now! it will stop wearing my ass out so much? I am sorry to be so worthless y'all. It's all I can do to stay awake.

How Many Days Until The Next Trimester?

Thanks y'all, for all the kind words and happy thoughts. I should have known the internets would come through for us.

One of the sad truths is that even if you are married and happy and of appropriate age not everyone will respond the way you want to when you announce that you are pregnant.

I think in our case, it is mostly worry that colors people's reactions. But in others, it is a sanctimonious thing that irritates the fuck out of me. See a lot of people ask, "Did you take the drugs?" And there is this snide tone, once I say no, actually we were supposed to start this month. Because they are saying See? You just needed to relax. You didn't need interventions, babies happen when they happen.

I don't know why people want to argue this point. It took us almost three years to get pregnant the first time. Medical experts say that women my age should see a doctor after a year. Give me a fucking break alright? If you don't like the drugs, well I actually don't understand that. I think the media and their coverage of sixty year old mothers and high multiples distort what people think about reproductive assistance. A lot of couples get this help and the methods are safe. It can put you through the ringer but so can supposedly well meaning friends and family who suggest you just pray more and that if it is meant to be it will happen.

I suppose I could pray if I get strep throat too, or I could take anti-biotics. I think God created people smart enough to invent such things so that we could all benefit but you know I could be wrong.

Sorry, I am just crabby as hell. I am so afraid that I am going to lose this baby. To an irrational degree. Then I am afraid that I won't but will be a terrible mother or won't be able to cope or something else. There is a lot to worry about. And mildly assuring is the unstopping gagging and nausea that is kicking my ass. It's re-assuring because well, the baby is probably growing with all the torturing me and all. But it is hard to feel grateful when you spent the day at work trying to gag quietly so your co-workers won't hear.

I don't think I was entirely successful.

There are full body gags, the kind that sound like some one is stepping on my throat and my head gets thrown back and lord. It is just not ok. I have to keep full but I don't want to eat. At all. I hate eating. Nothing tastes good and many things make me gag and I don't feel hungry but I know that I am. The one time in your life as an American woman you are allowed to eat (though not guilt free because GOD people want to give babies their food issues in the womb now) and I am totally not enjoying on moment.