I'm back

Albeit, temporarily.

It has been a harrowing few weeks, of which I will not go into too much detail. I will say, however, that a desert island with just me, my husband, and my pregnant belly sounds pretty good. And on that island, I will sport the belly in that yes-I'm-super-pregnant-but-don't-care sort of way, hanging out in my fabulous bikini for all to see. I will bask in the sun, gaining a golden brown hue to my skin and a natural reddish highlight to my hair. My husband will take on the form of a Greek god with bronzed skin and sun-drenched, yelllow locks. We will survive on what we forage and spend our days from sunrise to sundown thinking about how wonderful our island is without the stresses of life, family, and reality. It will be glorious.

Reality check. My island is my living room, in which I have become all too accustomed to the red walls, dirty, hand-me down furniture, and lack of artwork. My belly is in hiding, remaining safely under my shirt away from scrutiny and the scary likeness to a beached whale as opposed to a beach bunny. My skin has been sun-kissed, but not in the orange soda sort of way. More like a one day in the sun when my naturally olive skin happened to take-on some color sort of way. My hair...we just won't go there. My husband will always look like a statue of a Greek god to me. Unfortunately though, he talks, and I've never seen a likeness of a Greek god with its foot in its mouth. And finally, as much as I would love to dwell off of the land, I live in suburbia. The closest I come to an all-natural diet is the local farmer's market (which, b-t-w was ridiculously meager this past weekend.)

As far as the stresses of life and family go, I'm afraid the only comfort an island would afford me right now is the close proximity to the sea in which I could not so ceremoniously drown myself. Not that I would - this is not some subliminal (or not so) announcement that I plan to kill myself. Just an allusion to the unbelievable dysfunction each of my family members adds to my already, almost comically, messed up life.

Short Hiatus...

Sorry guys, but I'm going to have to hang up my "blog-hat" for a couple of weeks. See you soon...

I'm just pregnant

I used to hear people ask pregnant women how they were feeling and sort of chuckle at the response that they were feeling,"pregnant." However, now I get it. In fact, that has been my reply to the last dozen or so people who have inquired into my well-being. I'm not sick. I'm not tired. I'm not good. I'm not bad. I'm pregnant.

The physical and emotional roller coaster of pregnancy has been relatively new for me. Granted I've had six months to get used to it, it really did start out as a slow, steady kiddie ride. Sure I was nauseous for the first 14 weeks, and my ever-expanding waistline has been a bit much to handle, but if I am going to be honest with myself, I have not experienced the twisty-twirly, upside down, loopty-loop of a coaster that some unfortunately have to go through before the free-fall of giving birth. It's been kind of nice.

Lately however, there is a feeling about me that I cannot shake. I'm not in pain and I don't have irrational thoughts about the baby not having limbs (who thinks like that? :) ) I just feel funny. And the only way to describe it is pregnant.

This feeling is starting to take it's toll, though. Yesterday, I came home, cleaned up the kitchen, and started to make dinner. Just after I began the preparations, I realized I needed milk. My husband was going to be leaving work soon, so I called to see if he could pick some up on his way. At some point during the conversation, I decided that his going to the store would delay his arrival home even more and based on the way I felt, I just couldn't handle that. So I announced that I would go to the store and instructed him to come right home. We hung up, I grabbed my keys, and went to the store.

As I walked out the door, I look down at my feet and realized I was wearing slippers. Not just any slippers - white, plush slip-ons that say "Just" on one foot and "Married" on the other. Classy! I was about 2 feet from my car, stopped, looked back at my house, thought about going back in to change shoes, and then just shrugged and proceeded to my car. (I should also add that I was wearing cut-off capri sweatpants and one of my husband's white Haynes t-shirts. The complete ensemble, wouldn't you say?) I looked completely and utterly disheveled, and let's face it, probably a bit crazy. And I didn't care - I felt pregnant.

I often read blogs about mothers who don't brush their teeth for days on end, or simply can't afford the time to shower before the kids go to bed at night. But I'm not a mom yet. I'm just pregnant! This can't be good.