- not done one single dish.
- vomited over fifty times (in case you were jealous about the dish situation).
- gained twenty pounds.
- eaten fifteen slices of pizza from Costco.
- tried Taco Bell for the first time.
- not slept through the night once.
- missed all of tomato season.
- read eight books about babies, give or take.
- begun having freaky nightmares every night.
- convinced myself that I will give birth to an intersex child and move to an intersex-friendly community (maybe Portland?).
- tested the limits of Ryan's time-management skills and overall obedience.
- shaved my legs and underarms for the first time in about five years. Strangely, it helped.
- heard a heart beating in my body that isn't my heart.
- realized I have to find a pediatrician.
- felt grateful that I had an upper respiratory infection because it meant I had to call in sick to work.
- felt astonished that I could get an upper respiratory infection when I had drunk a Coldbuster at Jamba Juice every day for the past six weeks. False advertising; they should have a pregnancy clause.
- noticed that people want to tell me either why parenting is wonderful heaven or miserable hell, though I suspect a combination might be most accurate.
- peed on the bathroom floor due to the forcefulness of my dry heaves. I was kind of proud.
- had sore abs from vomiting. Again, pride.
- contracted a bladder infection.
Monday, October 18, 2010
My glamorous life has taken a turn for the less-glamorous in several ways that may entertain you. In the past three months I have: