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And I wonder….why?

August 5, 2009

WARNING:As my train of thoughts usually go, this might not make too much sense when reading for a purpose. Just go with it as what it is: typed thoughts.

As I sat this morning, blurry-eyed and bushy-tailed despite the fact that Queenie allowed me to sleep in an extra half-hour, and as I tried to see the world around me instead of feeling through the blur like I do when I get up to pee at 3 in the morning (if that happens already will I be getting up twice a night by the 8th month?) I wonder what the hell I was thinking wanting to get pregnant again. Sure, could be morning crabbies talking, but as I pulled away from the tinged air that my own morning breath contaminated in the attempt not to vomit that early I thought of one more reason to will myself beyond the first trimester and damn all this lovy-bovy BS about enjoying your pregnancy. Yes, I know, I said just a few days ago that I was going to be all “Screw you, hormones, I’m going to be happy and full of love”. Well, I am happy and I guess there is some love deep down in my soul this morning as I drink my 1/2 caff-1/2-decaff coffee and resist the urge to lower all the blinds and the spend the day in a cave filled with Baby Einstein and my count down to the day I won’t have to hear my husband say, “Be careful with how much caffeine you drink, please.”

That gets me crabby but to this I persevere against my dark morning demon whose nature it is to lash out at him or to at least roll the eyes way, way back in a dramatic show of annoyance. Instead I nod my head and remind myself that despite what society says, this is his baby too and since he had no control over the incubation period it is only natural for him to remind me of healthy eating and drinking habits. He is thinking of both of us, I’m sure, but instead of comforting me and calming the demon I secretly wish for 8:30am to come and for him to be out the door. Now I can grasp my coffee thermos in one hand while pleading with Queenie to eat with the other and watch the news without having to speak except to say, “Bite? Honey, take a bite, please!”

The tone of voice that squeaks from my throat is pleading at this hour of the morning, even though it is already 9:30am and the sun has been glaring for over three hours now through our windows. Later on today, if the eating habits don’t improve the tone will take on a frustrated tone in which I will make empty threats that Queen can’t understand. And Queenie herself will just look at me with wide eyes that will crinkle into a smile because for some reason it is funny to her to watch her mama suffer at her expense.

But as I eye the carrot bread spread with yummy low-fat cream cheese frosting, something that I would normally gobble down and yet today it still sits there, a half-hour later, I remind myself that sometimes we just don’t feel like eating and that maybe I should give Queenie a break. Of course, I have a better excuse in that her little brother/sister has jacked up my hormones and body to the point that I feel nauseous even thinking about the mushy carrots mixed through the cinnamon, flour and oil. Thankfully my sickly childhood taught me to resist running to the toilet. I have trained myself well on how not to throw up, and I can see this coming in handier this pregnancy more than the last.

But the worst, worst, WORST thing of all I found at last night at kickboxing class; which is that I can no longer go. I watched my heartbeats for fifteen minutes and was unable to keep them down to around 140. Should have known, I know. But I thought that if I didn’t bounce too much and really just did the punches and kicks that I would be able to continue, but alas, I could only keep my heart rate at 160-way too high for the baby, so I am told. So I left. And almost cried. And found out that the new music I downloaded to my iPod is trash even though it is supposedly the “greatest workout music this year”. Absolute trash.

Now I’m sweaty and in need of a shower and Queenie is leaning against the couch with a bored look on her face. She has walked away from Baby Einstein, too bored even for that. So it is off to the park we go as I try to wake up from my crankiness and become a human again. Writing this post has helped. Little does my Principe know that you all are saving him from a ranting a raving wife since I give it all to you on these pages. Boy, he should really buy you all a round of drinks.

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