Discombobulation Station

My Mind is on the Blink

At first the fatigue is almost luxurious, like you just had a fun, late night the night before and you get to go to bed early to make up for it.  Sinking into bed is the best sensation on earth, and you feel pleasantly foggy around the edges.

And after a few weeks, you start to wonder if you will ever be able to hold a conversation after 7 pm. Or remember where your glasses are before 7 am. Or where are your keys. Or your phone. Or your shoes.  Or oh please Little A., just don't poop for a couple of hours, because Mama forgot to bring the diaper bag. 

We won't even discuss the futile absurdity that is me attempting to work a new job at this moment.  I have cried hot tears of frustration more times than...well, just about anything will make me cry. Please don't make me drive past that road-killed fox again, send me any cute videos, or make me watched Tangled again, Little A., because the end? <SPOILER ALERT> Where Rapunzel is reunited with her family? It will make me cry. And I will have to tell you Mama is crying because they are all so happy! again. Happy tears are a very difficult concept.  Walking around with squishy, stupid emotions, like an overripe peach in the bottom of a backpack is difficult.

And hungry? SO. FUCKING. HUNGRY. I don't remember ever being so hungry so often ever in my life! Ever! On Saturday, I ate Chipolte twice: a big-ass salad sitting there in the store, and a big-ass burrito at home a few hours later. And still needed a snack at 10 pm. On the plus side, I am becoming expert at no-crumbs-in-bed sandwich consumption.

Yeah, so. These are my major malfunctions -- so, so minor compared to some ladies' (so thankful every day that I am not a puker), but boy this pregnancy thing sure can make life just a wee bit more difficult.  Second trimester starts today! Wanna come over and eat a whole pizza with me to celebrate? Promise I won't cry (in front of you).

ALSO if you wouldn't mind, please drink a margarita for me, and write me to tell me all about it. For the love of all that is holy DRINK A MARGARITA.

Please.

xoxo, A

The Elephant in the Room

1. As the proud (ahem) owner of a new and long (35 miles round-trip) daily commute, I am reacquainting myself with the joys of JAMMING OUT to radio for an hour every day, four days a week.  The state o' Maine radio is rather grim, with an abundance of country and god-music, but there are 4 or so reliable stations for JAMMING OUT.

Yesterday, as every day, I picked up Little A. from her beloved daycare, and proceeded to JAM OUT (albeit at a decreased volume, for the sake of the child's eardrums) to a favorite Foo Fighters song (yes, sometimes I have the taste of a 19 year old frat boy). Serious air-drumming and head-banging was afoot in the front seat, when from the back I heard a little voice say "ooh Mama. Mama? No yike-y dis song, Mama. Tun it down a yittle peas." I turned around at the next light, and she said it again, with a shake of the head for emphasis. No yike-y dis song, Mama.

FINE. I will defer to the taste of someone whose current favorite song is the frickin' Alphabet Song.

The sacrifice that motherhood requires is astounding.

2. The sacrifice that motherhood requires is astounding. Just ask Sarah, one of the guests on the show Pregnant in Heels. I got to watch this on the flight home from our annual Nana-in-Florida visit - HURRAH for JetBlue, btw, and I know you already know this. But seriously, the bliss of 90 minutes with a sleeping toddler sprawled on the seat next to me (and on my lap), earphones in, junk TV? Is. Awesome. Anyway. Have you guys seen this show? Is nuts. The ladies are all nuts.  That Sarah lady, she said ALOUD that the baby residing in her womb was a "life-force sucking parasite."  She and her hubby refuse to buy baby gear because it is ugly (to them) and won't fit in to their sleek loft lifestyle. WOW, I thought. WOW.  And then the plane landed and Little A. woke up so I never got to find out whether or not that crazy lady stopped being so crazy and finally got a goddamn teddy bear for her baby.

3. For about seven weeks now, I haven't been able to: eat sushi. Drink wine. Have eggs benedict. Stay up past 10.  Not smell every smell in the whole world. Go more than an hour without being hungry or having to pee. Write blog posts because OMG I AM PREGNANT AND I WAS TOO SUPERSTITIOUS TO WRITE ABOUT BEING PREGNANT AND I COULDN'T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE TO WRITE ABOUT. 

But yeah, I am pregnant. 12 weeks today. Today, we packed up the whole family at an unreasonably early (but of course running late) hour for my first ultrasound, and saw the tiny beaner in my belly.  Little A. was interested for a few minutes, happily took her own little copy of a clip of the sonogram.  In the car on the way to daycare, she declared I have a baby in my belly! Yike Mama! And pulled up her shirt to pat her abundant tum. 

The sacrifices are so very, very worth it.

xoxo, A