Thursday, July 30, 2009

If I keep eating like this, it'll be a butterbean.

Mmmm. Butter. Maybe I'll make popcorn when I'm done posting.

What a hell of an introduction. What else can you expect from a crazy preggo lady, though? I have to admit, I've always felt like blogging was a bit self-indulgent (not as bad as twitter, though... don't even get me started on twitter. No love for the tweeting), but I am currently unemployed, four months pregnant, and I'm pretty sure my poor husband is either going to me or himself over the head with a frying pan soon in order to put us both out of our misery, so a dip into the blogging pool might be a healthy alternative to blunt force injuries. There's only so much bitching the poor man can listen to.

So... boy+ girl= bean.

Boy= my wonderful husband Michael. Graphic designer by education, IT miracle-worker by occupation. Although he grew up on rural Long Island, we met in college in Florida. After we found out we were expecting (2 weeks after our honeymoon the test came back positive), he unselfishly decided that we needed to be closer to my family, so we moved to Seattle to actually live with my parents for a while as we looked for jobs, houses, etc. Its like the white Cosby show around here. If you have a business in Seattle, you should hire him. Now.

Girl= me. Sarah. Went to school to be a high school history teacher, because I have a machoistic streak a mile wide. Now, five months after graduation, I am living with my parents again short term (oh, God, I hope short term... I love them, but being married and living in your high school bedroom is weird),have no job yet, and I have no idea what I want to do with my life... other than take care of the Bean.

Bean= the parasitic thing that will be gradually taking over more and more of my womb in the next five months. We don't even have ultrasound pictures yet. Part of the whole unemployment thing is no insurance, so Medicaid is naturally taking forever to go through. Almost there, though, and then I will be doctoring it up as much as possible. I know everyone says some variation of this, but it's bordering on asinine how much I love this three-inch long thing that's taking over my body. The only thing it's ever done for me is give me an aversion to anything fried or sweet, which, pre-pregnancy, were my two main food groups. And still, I have fallen head over heels in babylove. It's affected The Boy too. He kisses my stomach and talks to the Bean and gives me hugs when I feel fat. He made me cry in the car today:

Boy (apropos of absolutely nothing) "you're so pretty..."
Girl: "Thank you.. I'm glad you think so."
Boy: "You don't think so?"
Girl: "...I'm having a pregnancy day."
Boy: "Well, you look beautiful now, and you're going to look beautiful when you're eight months pregnant and waddling. Because you're taking care of the Bean.
Girl: ".........."
Boy: "Ohshit. are you crying? WHY ARE YOU CRYING?!?"
Girl: " ...sniff....that was so sweet....sniff"
Boy: *palmface*

Yeah. I cry a lot. For all of you who haven't ever been pregnant, try combining the worst hangover of your life with the worst PMS of your life, and then stir in the knowlege that in a few months, you're going to spend a day or two pushing a screaming, writhing, bloody creature that you'll be responsible for during the next 18 years out a hole that's usually too small to comfortably fit anything other than a tampon or your husband's youknowwhatimtalkingabout. You would cry a lot too.