I haven't been here in a month. And I really shouldn't be here now. I have work to do. I have to leave in an hour. My daughter has decided to be whiney. I'm behind on my Bible reading. But for the moment, I've got a delicious cup of coffee (cheers to the end of constant nausea!) and I feel like catching up here. So hello again, and you are welcome. Or whatever. I'm too tired to think.
I'm tired because it hurts to sleep. I'm constantly exhausted, and my body hurts when I sleep. My legs are uncomfortable. My back feels twisty and tweaked. My pillow feels like a brick. If I sleep on my arm (and I always sleep on my arm) my shoulder feels like it's been ripped from its socket. So I toss and turn. I doze off. I wake up and watch the blue numbers on the ceiling (it took me 1 1/2 minutes just now to remember how to write the word ceiling, but I think I did it) get slightly larger, then smaller, than larger again. 11:30. 12:15. 1:40. 2:30. 3:45. ::Sigh:: And then 6:45 comes, and I feel more worked out the rested up, but it's fine. The torture of night is done, so it's fine.
Besides nighttime, pregnancy is happy now. I'm showing enough that people think "pregnant" not "letting herself go", and I get my heart rate checked monthly (97/55 last it was checked, BOOYAH).
Yesterday, I got a couple comments about my appearance. One individual chose to inform me that my pregnancy was showing in my face. SRSLY? Now, maybe people don't really care if they sound nice, or hurtful, or strange, and that's fine. I'm not here to judge your intentions. But if you're SHOOTING for nice, "pregnant in the face" is not hitting the mark. Because besides "fat in the face, with a weird amount of acne", I'm really not sure what that could mean.
The second comment was... different. Someone SWORE she knew me from "clubbing". Now personally, I do not "club". I have never "clubbed". I'm not sure what it entails. It sounds intimidating and potentially aggressive. But as it turns out, I didn't remind her of your average club visitor, I reminded her of someone in particular. A pole dancer, in fact. NOT A STRIPPER, she was quick to point out, just "one of those people who dance around the poles, what are they called?" Right. She went on to insist that the way I carried myself, the way I leaned against a counter top when I was filling out paper work, my posture as I stood, the way I walk, it all screams pole dancer. I. just... I don't... huh?!?
So apparently yesterday everything about me screamed fat-faced slut bag, or something pretty close to that. I don't know how to respond. I don't know how to stop being a fat-faced slut bag. So I guess I'm going to have to write these off, and hope that today garners fewer comments from the peanut gallery.
Okay, that's enough of all that now. Before I go, here is me today (13 1/2 weeks pregnant) and Baby Tres from last week (Just over 12 weeks old). I got the pleasure of a surprise sonogram, just because my NP thought it would be fun. I think I like her. In one picture (s)he is rubbing his/her eye in one, and I think it is adorable. Even though (s)he looks like a scary alien otherwise.
|GIANT!! Also, this is what a fat-faced pole dancer looks like. You're welcome, WORLD, for the fact that I choose not to dance on poles.|
Happy Thursday friends, and VERY happy birthday to my dearest mother-in-law, on the off chance that you find this page :-) Hope it's the best!