I had a dream that someone was repeatedly punching me in the guts. Wham. Wham. Wham. It had a totally noir fist-fight in an alley aesthetic. I woke up sputtering and realized: I'm not getting punched in the stomach, those licks are coming from the inside. THE CALLS ARE COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE.
Went to the grocery store. Forgot to bring my purse.
Tried to drive to the mall to pick up my new specs. Got lost leaving the neighborhood. Twice. Just now had to ask Chuck where we were going when I got lost twice.
Referred to Leif Erickson Park as Leif Enger Park. Twice. Burst into tears.
My new favorite thing is a 6-inch meatball sub, toasted, from Subway. The sandwich artists have just noticed this week that I'm pregnant. There has been no reason to look at my blossoming mid-section until I finally walked in without a coat.
"I wondered when you ordered the meatball sub," one says. "You never get the meatball sub."
"So, have you had any weird cravings or anything?"
Everyone always asks that.
"Yeah," I say. "The meatball sub."
There are a few scientifically impossible things that I truly believe: That if I don't sleep in my sweatpants, the baby will fall out of my body; That if the cats jump on my belly, it will pop like a balloon.
My stomach itches like crazy. I haven't spent much time looking at it, but took a quick peek the other day and noticed what looks like the markings of a tape worm. Odds are it isn't, though, probably just stretch marks.
A few nights ago I oiled myself up in Bath & Body Works, turned off the light, tried to sleep and then bolted upright. WHAT IF B&BW IS TOXIC?! I heard in my head a smug, self-righteous voice saying: "It's not just what you put in your body, it's also what you put ON your body."
I sat on the edge of the bed Googling "Pregnant belly Bath & Body Works" and never found a real result that I could trust, but saw rumors that pre-2010, the lotion had a different formula.
WHEN DID I GET THIS LOTION?! I screamed.
Then, finally, I decided that I can't be the only pregnant person in the world to be wearing a half-inch coating of Plumeria on her pregnant skin. Bigger idiots than me ... I repeated my mantra.
Still, I bought Cocoa Butter, the recommended lube for such issues. I orbited my belly with the stuff, my hands like spastic planets. Feels so, so good.
We've settled the Great Nursing Chair Issue of 2013, deciding on a multitasking piece that is both glider and recliner. And pink with white piping.
The pink part feels a little frivolous. What do you do with a pink chair, anyway, after she's off the teat and on to, like, sporks? When we're over this middle of the night bonding period and she wants a toy box in her tiny room instead of furniture. On the other hand, part of me likes that the first major purchase for the PBG is super impractical.
Mom, via text: What if you decide to have another one and it's a boy?
Me, in my head: HAVE ANOTHER ONE LOLOLOLO MIGRAINE PARTY ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE TAPE WORM MEATBALL SUBS.
Me, via text: Well, he'll probably turn gay.
Mom, via text: (silence).