I wish I were Catherine Newman. I wish on days like these I could yank some clever, odd-but-totally-relatable topic out of my brain and ramble hilariously and eloquently on about it. But no, I am me, and all I can think to say is that still, still, I feel like crap. In other words, I can whine. Whining is my new hobby.
I want to whine about how I wake up thin (well, no fatter than normal, anyways) and by the end of the day cannot sit down without unbuttoning my jeans.
I want to whine about how, when I lift my arms to wash my freaking hair it makes me feel exhausted. (It also sends pains through my once again tender breasts- sorry, but it does, and this is my day to whine.)
I want to whine about how we had some people over today, and, a. I nobly agreed that yes, coffee could be made, but then after a few minutes wanted to flee the house, and b., as I grimaced with said nausea, one of the single guys looked at me with a mixture of concern and bewilderment and asked, "Do you even like being pregnant?"
I stared at him, trying to repress any expression, and said, "Well, most of the time, no." He said, "Then why did you get pregnant again? You already have a kid!" As though it is common assumption that any pregnancy after the first is engaged in for purely recreational purposes. "I want more than one child," I explained, after a pause. "In order to achieve that, I have to be pregnant again. That's why." He shook his head in apparent amazement and finally stated, "That's some devotion right there."
I suppose in the end this little discourse was a compliment to my forbearance in childbearing, but it kind of came off less positively at the moment. I felt a bit like a circus freak, an oddity of a masochist who chooses to put herself through physical discomfort, and then at length physical torture, merely to achieve a completely superfluous second child!
But I'm just being witchy right now and I know it. Ignore me please. Seriously.
Especially since I should be thrilled today! Not only did my little sister clean my house for me, including subjecting herself to my dull how-to seminar on proper dusting, but I got to go see a brand spanking new baby today!
That's right, the baby who was being showered with gifts just last week, whose arrival merited that tasty cake, is now here in the flesh. Welcome, Elliot Lucas! He is beautiful and impossibly tiny and entirely breathtaking. It seems so far away, yet also scarily soon, that I will be heading to the hospital to deliver my own little miracle.