Pregnancy and Insanity

Huge.

I have recently gotten huge. So big that 3 people stopped me in the hall on the way to my last class (the one I almost sleep through and daydream during about how nice the couch will feel when I plop myself down on it as soon as I can haul my fat ass up the stairs when I get home) to tell me how big I am. Cool. That makes me feel great.



I am so big that Ben wanted to take all these pictures because when I got home (and changed into sweats-- I swear I didn't teach in them. I may have worn sweats to lecture on MOnday, but that's totally different), HE couldn't believe how big I've gotten.


Seriously, my coat doesn't zip anymore. It did on Monday, but did not on Tuesday.

And my belly button clearly thinks the baby is done cooking (which is not true-- he has weeks to go, people, but how can I get weeks bigger?)

And despite my smiling face, I am suddenly MISERABLE. By this time in my pregnancy with Harry, school was out; I had just finished defending my dissertation proposal and applying for a research fellowship. I was not feeling pressured to meet any deadlines, so I checked out a bunch of secondary sources from the library (books on abortion, birth control, and eugenic sterilization-- probably really confusing to watch my whale of a self read them-- I bet people wanted to say, "Lady, it's too late!") and spent every day either sprawled on my couch or lounging at the pool (in a surprisingly teeny bikini). Bitching about how uncomfortable I was. And reminding Ben to bring me a Monster Cookie Blizzard from Dairy Queen. (Sadly, Dairy Queen no longer makes the Monster Cookie Blizzard, which is a shame.)

But it wouldn't matter if they did because I am so nauseous that I couldn't eat it anyway. Yesterday, the only thing that I ate was MacDonalds (which the normal me doesn't even like anymore), and today, I've had garlic bread and ice cream (and Ben is actually out right now getting Oreo ice cream cones). I have the worst heartburn I have ever had; the round ligament pain is excruciating, and I am SO TIRED I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO because you would think that sleeping is an answer, but it's not because I am too big to get comfortable in bed and may have to start sleeping on the couch for back support and use of Tivo to help me kill the hours between 1 and 4 when I am awake, eating oyster crackers, and cussing at nothing in particular.

The only thing that makes my stomach feel better? Pepsi, which is so trashy for a pregnant lady. I feel very Britney and not just because I BACKED MY CAR INTO A PARKED GAS TRUCK (Harry's fine. I'm fine, The gas truck is fine. Not fine? My car, which is smashed. Also, I called the gas truck driver an asshole after I hit HIM because it took him so long to fill out all his paperwork. I was like, "Dude. I hit you. You were parked here. This is clearly my fault. Here's my insurance card. I've gotta go." He was all, "This has never happened to me in ten years of driving, so I have to follow procedure," and then I said, "Don't be such an asshole!" because I thought the 10 years thing was a bit snarky, actually. So Harry napped through the whole exchange, and then never again for the rest of the day, and that almost killed me).

I am writing all this down to remind myself not to think about going for 3 under 3 and to let you all know what poor Ben deals with every waking moment of his life (because I call him at work. A lot. To say things like, "I can't believe you bought generic laundry detergent. Don't you care about this marriage?" and "I just hit a gas truck with my car, and it's your fault. I need you to get over here right away," and "Can you bring me the largest container of Tums you can find?" To this last question, he responded, "Do you want me to get a Sam's Club membership?" and that's how I know he's my soul mate).