Good Morning America (and Amalah)
May 20, 2005
7:00 am: Alarm goes off across the room (where it was put to prevent mass snooze-button abuse).
7:02: Roll over, discover that left ear formed some sort of vacuum seal with pillow overnight which now HURTS LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER.
7:04: Get out of bed, stumble towards clock, turn alarm off, get back in bed.
7:05: Momentary stumbling has awoken the babalah/boybalah/squishy/whatever-I'm-calling-it-these-days, which awwww, but also STOP KICKING AND LET MAMA SLEEP.
7:10: Wide awake now, gripped by horrible reality that in four months, there will be another human being in my house who will most likely want to wake up at 5 a.m., and who cannot be ignored like the large, plaintive eyes of my dog.
7:20: Anxiety makes me tired. Back to sleep.
7:30: Secret backup alarm goes off.
7:32: Shuffle downstairs with one eye open to make sure I don't step in any Ceiba's overnight accidental shit piles.
7:35: Pee. Congratulate self on making it through the night without getting up to pee. Thank uterus for finally getting its punk-ass self out of my pelvic cavity and off of my damn bladder, like the pregnancy books promised would happen WEEKS AGO.
7:37: Feed pets. Max immediately begins slurping and inhaling his food at an alarming rate, while Ceiba sits by her untouched bowl, quietly observing the frenzy.
7:38: Max is done. And now he is sad. Ceiba takes her cue and starts loudly and happily munching on her kibble, occasionally walking up to Max to crunch in his face. Max, completely forgetting that he ever had food in the first place, looks at me like, "Why? Why do you make my life so very hard?"
7:39: I swear I am not making this up.
7:42: Jason is in the shower. Shit. Might as well go back to bed and lie down for a few more minutes.
8:03: Vaguely aware of Jason calling my name. What?
8:06 - 8:18: Shower. Try to think of way to blame lateness on Jason.
8:19: Because Jason strongly prefers long hair, I am forced to keep my hair long and therefore I require tons of primping time in the morning, so really, it IS all his fault. Ta-da!
8:20: Hate. Maternity. Clothes.
8:22: So much.
8:30: Need to leave for work this instant.
8:31: Jason returns from walking Ceiba, finds me standing in the kitchen eating a chocolate pudding cup, still in my underwear.
8:32: Shirt. Pants. Hate.
8:35: Apply makeup. Momentarily debate drawing smiley face on belly with eye pencil and taking picture. Jason enters bathroom to kiss me goodbye and pretend that he didn't actually see me staring at the mirror with my shirt up and an eye pencil in hand.
8:42: Hair, which has been wrapped in a towel, turban-style, has dried all bent and frizzy.
8:43: Should be fired from Advice Smackdown duties.
8:44: Untangle cord to blow-dryer.
8:45: Which is not happening.
8:46: How does a cord get so tangled in 24 hours? By just SITTING THERE in a CABINET. It is EVIL and POSESSED.
8:52: Hair is dry and sort of vaguely straight. Decide to over-product-it-up and scrunch it so it looks like I purposely went for bendy-straw-hair.
8:53: I want more pudding.
8:56: Run upstairs for jewelry and shoes, check reflection in full-length mirror for first time. Red bra totally visible through pink shirt.
8:58: Options: change to white bra from two cup sizes ago, iron a new shirt, blame the lighting and change nothing.
8:59: The lighting in my bedroom IS really weird, actually.
9:00: Cannot find full pair of footie socks.
9:01: Where are all the footie socks?
9:02: I swear to God, I've bought 400 pairs of footie socks in the past six months alone.
9:03: Find one footie sock mixed up with the dish towels.
9:04: Find other footie sock stuck to the side of the washer, soaking wet.
9:05: Put on one dry footie sock and both shoes, gather purse and keys while frantically waving wet footie sock in air.
9:06: Stop looking at me like that, Ceiba.
9:08: Outside! Headed towards car!
9:09: Parking enforcement. Shit. Must act casual yet get to car quickly before expired inspection sticker is spotted.
9:10: Is impossible for a pregnant woman to look casual while trying to walk quickly.
9:11: Especially if said pregnant woman is carrying a footie sock.
9:12: Parking enforcement person is ticketing out-of-state car parked behind mine. Frantically and not-at-all-casually get into car, fumble with keys and drive off just in time.
9:14: That was all very James Bond, wasn't it?
9:15: Hang wet footie sock on air vent.
9:22: XM Radio exists merely so humans have the option of going from Lucinda Williams to The Killers to 80's dance songs in a single commute.
9:24: I like to move it move it, I like to move it move it...
9:30: So. Late.
9:33: Footie sock is still not dry. Turn up fan. Footie sock sails off of vent and into backseat.
9:37: At work. Park, retrieve slightly damp footie sock from backseat. Decide pneumonia is better than blisters and put on.
9:40: In office. If anyone asks, I had an offsite meeting at 9 am and it was totally productive.
9:41: I wonder if anyone would notice if I ran out to Starbucks real quick?