(Continuing in the presents-for-shout-outs whoredom that is this site: thanks to Minarae, Ubik, Peyton, Warcrygirl, CityCat and Jessie for the lovely, lovey baby gifts. And I found some stamps! So thank-you cards are en route. Thank-you cards that will most likely sound weird and rambling, because I never know what to write besides, uh, thank you, and end up trying to be all funny and witty and just...no. It never works. Possibly because I have the handwriting of a serial killer.)
(Although does anyone know how much postage I need to send a card to Australia? Because seriously, Australia!)
And now: GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDAMMMMMMMN.
I wrote an entire post, people. AN ENTIRE POST. RIGHT HERE. And then I was stupid and clicked on something in the Google Toolbar for no good cotton-picking reason and I thought I was in a different Firefox tab and NO, I WAS NOT IN A DIFFERENT FIREFOX TAB, and POOF, I was carried away from my post which was immediately lost, except for those first two paragraphs because I'd saved THOSE as a draft and then never hit save again because that would have made sense.
And I am left with nothing, like if I wrote an entry in Microsoft Word and then Windows crashed and the stupid autorecover thing didn't work, only this is worse because I ENJOY BLAMING MICROSOFT FOR MY PROBLEMS. But I get no pleasure from yelling at Firefox or the Google Toolbar. I love Firefox and the Google Toolbar.
So I will blame myself, and my stupid clicking. And I will try to remember what the hell I wrote before.
(I wrote that second part, the tantrum part, yesterday, Thursday. And let me tell you, there is nothing more tedious than trying to re-write something you've lost. So I gave up. Now it is today, Friday, and I will try again. It still feels pretty tedious.)
The Post That Firefox Ate was about Wednesday morning and the Blood and the Scare and the Dehydration and blah blah blah. That's all like, SO two days ago. We can all move on now.
Except not too much, because I'm still feeling sorry for myself.
Although for those of you who (amongst the much-appreciated head patting and offers of cake) railed against my boss for making me work on Wednesday, I must issue a clarification. My boss did not "make" me come into work. My presence at work was 100% Pure Amalah-Brand Crazy.
See, there was this Big Huge Interwebnet Project that was going live on Wednesday, and Big Huge Interwebnet Project was MY Big Huge Interwebnet Idea. MINE. So while I totally COULD have supervised the project from home, I was imagining scenarios that involved something going Terribly Wrong, and mobs of panicked people running to my office where I would calmly and brilliantly Fix Everything and then everybody would be all, "Oh my God, Amy is so awesome, let's give her a raise and a promotion and throw her a party with cake."
Nothing went Terribly Wrong. I sent out some emails and tested some links and ate some donuts from the vending machine and then went home.
I still maintain that I am awesome.
I went to work yesterday because we were throwing a bridal shower for someone and there was cake.
I went to work today because...well, I'm not sure. Partly because I need every precious, precious hour of sick leave for after the baby is born. And partly because I again grossly overestimated how important I am at work and again assumed that unless I was actually physically present at the office, everything would go to hell in a handbasket and people would be running around screaming "WHERE IS AMY? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WE NEED AMY!" and possibly on fire.
By 1 pm I realized that actually, I'm barely needed at all and can do my entire job at home from my couch. Which is MUCH closer to a bathroom, which is good, because this "staying properly hydrated" shit is killing me. And people at work are starting to comment on my very pronouced waddle-walk, which becomes even more hilarious when I'm clearly trying to waddle to the bathroom in a desperate, desperate hurry.
And trying to ensure that I empty my bladder completely? Requires me to spread my legs far, far apart and then bend over as far as I can, which is hard for a rolly-polly pregnant woman and more than once I have plum near toppled right off the toilet. And at work I swear the person in the next stall can tell what I'm doing and is all, "WTF?" At least at home my only problem is that sometimes my dog or my cat think I'm bending over to play with them and do gross things, like climb into my pulled-down underwear.
(Let me know anytime if I'm oversharing, by the way.)
Oh, I also came home today because of the contractions. Oh yes! Forgot to mention those. 300 bottles of water a day and I'm still getting Braxton-Hicks contractions that alternate between completely painless and ones that knock me out of my chair and onto the floor where I suddenly understand why so many women poop during labor, because OH MY GOD, MY PELVIS IS MELTING.
They're all erratic and weird and they stop once I drink yet another bottle of water. So while barely registering on the Official Time to Get Concerned Scale, I decided that hey, perhaps my body is telling me to take it the fuck easy for once and maybe for once I should listen.
So I did, and here I am, alternating between work and typing this brainfart of an entry (IN SEPARATE FIREFOX WINDOWS, LEST I GET CONFUSED ABOUT THE TABS AGAIN), eating ice cream and taking photos of my dog everytime she does something cute.
Hint: she does a lot of cute things.