I don’t have any sort of narrative story to tell here today, so I am just going to type a bunch of shit and see what sticks. In bullet form, no less!
#1: I was chatting with my yoga instructor before class last night, and since the size of my midsection is pretty much the most obvious topic of conversation, she asked when I was due. June 19th, I told her. OH! She replied- I was due on June 20th. And when did you give birth, I asked (which, in retrospect, I should have known better, but I am well schooled in social niceties, so this was the natural next question)? She looked at me with an air of pity and said JULY 8th. And then I picked my jaw bone up off the floor and collapsed in a puddle of tears. Ok, fine, not really, but TWENTY extra days? TWENTY? I’m already sort of over this whole thing, so the idea of completing the ten weeks I legitimately have to go and then tacking on an extra twenty days seems like a pretty fresh version of hell. I was sort of mentally prepared for an extra week, but TWENTY DAYS??
#2: Speaking of my midsection, you know what’s hard now? Washing the dishes. I mean, it was never a joyous task in the first place, but now my belly protrudes far enough forward that it’s hard to get close enough to the sink to reach the water for dish rinsing. If ever there were a time for go-go-gadget arms, now would be that time. As it stands, robotic extendo arms have yet to make it to market, so I have to content myself with leaning on the counter with my elbows and washing the dishes as if I were an old crone (and thinking about Inspector Gadget made me think about Penny, and was her presence a positive feminist force, since she solved every case? Or was it an underhanded way to tell girls that it was not only OK, but expected that the man in their life would take credit for all their work? TOO MUCH THINKING).
#3: I know everyone says this about themselves, but for me, it’s actually true: I rarely get sick. Less that once a year, I’d say, although I have not been tracking, what with how rare it really is for me. Which means that when I do get sick, I am a total pill to be around, since I have no idea what to do. I’m not so good at lounging around (when it’s being forced on me- when it’s MY choice, I am a pro lounger), and the house seems to get dirtier, and I can’t decide if I’m hot or I’m cold, and well. Let’s just say it’s better to just not be around during these rare times I am illin’. Which I currently am. There is a steady stream of snot exiting my nose, and a vicious case of post-nasal drip that has resulted in a seal barking cough. Combined with the image of me hunched over the sink rinsing dishes, I imagine I look like a WWII era Russian babushka, riddled with consumption and trying to make soup out of one potato and a cabbage leaf.
#4: The most unfortunate side effect of this cold (other than it’s inability to get the fuck out of my face, seriously, it’s been almost a week, and I have SHIT TO DO) and cough is that now I pee myself when I cough. Before I was pregnant, I had heard the stories, and while I did actually believe them, I thought there was no way it would happen to me. OH THE HUBRIS. Every coughing fit requires a change of underwear, and so I’ve taken to running to the nearest bathroom when I feel the need to cough, and sitting on the toilet for the duration of the fit. Since I have to pee approximately every 30 minutes anyways, this had turned out to be a very efficient use of my time.
#5: The SHIT TO DO in question is to take that fucking three-hour glucose tolerance test. Which sounds horribly uninteresting and deeply boring, and is made sort of worse by the fact that the lab my midwife has sent me to is a walk-in clinic. Which means I could sit for any number of hours (FASTING) in a depressing waiting room, while they find a spot to shove me into for the next three hours. It also means I have to clear my entire day, since showing up the moment they open doesn’t guarantee they’ll start my test right then. Right now I am planning on showing up to the clinic 15 minutes before they open on Monday, and then crossing every appendage that it doesn’t take a million years to complete.
#6: In non-pregnancy related news, J and I filed our taxes according to the new IRS rules, which require us to, while still filing as individuals, to total our assets and then split them down the middle. Which means that although I made a relative pittance this year, half of J’s income shows up on my return, essentially out of no where. The upshot is that this seems to have worked in our favor, as we are both getting money back, which our tax guy assures us we would not be, had we not had to split our “community property.” On the other hand, the tax man told me yesterday that one of his clients in our same position has already been sent a letter indicating an audit, so, you know… they’re going to get us, one way or another.
#7: Six items is a shameful way to end a list, as is seven items, and if I were to be doing this right, I’d find three more deeply boring tidbits to share so that I could have a nice 10 item list, but I have to go pee/cough, so this is what you get.
What’s going on with you?