February 22, 2008
Okay so I am emerging again from my near-narcoleptic state to post another damn run-on sentence entry and you know what I think I posted a lot of run-on sentence entries when I was pregnant before so I wonder if I should go ahead and make "punctuation aversions" an official pregnancy symptom on my still-to-come, just-hammering-out-a-few-final-details pregnancy calendar blog over at AlphaMom, because hey! It's my pregnancy guide and I CAN INVENT WHATEVER SYMPTOMS I WANT. FARTING. THAT'S A SYMPTOM. ALSO EXCESS EAR WAX, WHILE WE'RE AT IT.
What the fuck was I talking about? I got thrown off by all that punctuation. Oh, right, differing pregnancy symptoms between this one and my first, like the complete lack of puking (I really do believe I did have a stomach bug two weeks ago, although I'm sure the rising pregnancy hormones didn't help things any) and only the barest waves of post-prenatal-vitamin queasiness, which I cannot lie is freaking me out a little because last time I was so unbelievably miserable I lost over 10 pounds the first trimester, while this time I am eating us out of house and home and THIN MINTS THIN MINTS THIN MINTS! Followed by NACHOS! And then I want some PEPPERONI SLICES! And then more 85% off clearance rack Valentine's Day candy! And then I am STILL HUNGRY NOM NOM NOM I think I shall make some cauliflower and broccoli gratin (with ham!) and then eat the entire thing straight out of the casserole dish while sitting on the kitchen floor and eying the box of Tagalongs, because YOU ARE NEXT, MOTHERFUCKERS.
And yet I am still really very nervous about Monday's ultrasound, because I am unsure where the line between "crazy pregnant lady" and "fat whore pig who was just waiting for an excuse" lies. I am more comfortable with puking than with gnawing on the refrigerator handle, is all.
So if anyone has any experience with different pregnancies = different symptoms, particularly of the morning sickness variety, I sure would like to hear about it. My boobs would also appreciate it, since they are tired of me mashing on them to make sure they are still vaguely sore because otherwise I have nothing to BELIEVE IN ANYMORE. EXCEPT FOR THE DOUBLE-STUFF OREOS.
(Oh! And while I do like to imagine that my readers are the sort-of types who always have fabulous parties to attend on Oscar night -- perhaps parties where you dress up as obscure indie-film characters and everybody wears elbow-length gloves on principle -- but if you ARE going to be watching them at home this weekend, we're throwing a virtual Oscars party over at Mamapop [virtual = a swinging sexy time for the social anxiety disorder set!] and I would love it if y'all would stop by and join me, Sweetney, Mrs. Kennedy, Her Bad Mother, JenB and a slew of other hilarious people, either for just the red carpet fashion snarkfest at 7 pm or for the awards at 8 pm or both or just to hear the running list of Foods Amy Consumes During the Telecast and Then Cries About Because Now They Are Gone and She Can't Eat Them Anymore.)