inveil: round three, mofo.

Lather. Rinse. Repent.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Days are spent sleeping/ gagging/ sitting down/ making a face like I just saw someone kick an old lady/ breaking into coldsweats/ panic attacks.

My doctor [not the one who will be delivering the baby] suggested that I go off my anxiety/ depression medicine last week. So I did. Yeah, that lasted four whole days. I'm still waiting for it to kick back in, curled up in a fetal position on the couch grimacing and shouting 'WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME' over and over again at Poor, Dear Tony.

So! Doctor Number Two [the one who IS delivering the baby] told me on Sunday afternoon after I paged her hystericaly crying and begging to JUST BE ALLOWED TO TAKE HALF A PILL...she told me, 'Hun, you're going to be okay. I think you should probably take a whole one.' The GOOD thing is that there are no side effects for the baby...apparently, I was supposed to stop taking it this month ANYWAYS...pregnancy or no.

The BAD thing is that it hasn't kicked in all the way yet and I'm pretty sure the girls at work are sick of seeing me hugging myself and sobbing in the file room.

Ugh. I wish she'd told me to take two.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Cheetos is not in the dictionary!

Okay, so maybe writing break up letters to half of my friends was an act of those legendary Crazy Pregnancy Emotional Outburst Hormones, but what the hell. My life is kind of cluttered, anyways. Less time for friends means more time for blog. And sleeping. And cheetos, currently the most important of all three.

Oh god, I love cheetos now.

A non-broken-up-with friend of mine is studying to be a midwife AS WE SPEAK, and she does...doula...stuff [what is the verb form of 'doula'?!]. She wrote me today, offering her services to me. She promised me that she won't touch me a lot or be 'all up in my junk' [I'm so fucking classy it's UNREAL], and I'm thinking of taking her up on it. Might be nice to have someone who's just a friend [I mean...not my husband and not my mother] around towards the end. She's done it a few times already, and I think she'd totally barter with me...possibly accept sweaters and knitgoods for services rendered. You know. Instead of money. Because today I found out that cribs cost about seven hundred thousand dollars and - as it is - I barely have the extra money to keep myself in cheetos from week to week.

Man, cheetos are awesome.

Breaking up is hard to do.

I'm six weeks pregnant, due September 23rd. Tony and I had tried for months, so it came as a total shock a couple of weeks ago when I found out. I thought I just had the flu, but I took a test anyway. The line was so tiny and faint - barely visible. We took three more tests, two with the same result and one digital one that just flashed PREGNANT. So, I've been to the doctor but my first real, pregnant-lady visit is in February, two days before my birthday. It's amazing how excited my family is. This baby is going to be the first grandchild/ great grandchild in all the American families, so I keep getting tearful phone calls from grandmothers hundreds of miles away, demanding to be told the EXACT MOMENT labor starts, because they're driving to the hospital. Oh, and I now have roughly eight people planning my baby shower.

...at six weeks.

It's funny, though, how major life changes like this can bring the worst out in your friends. I've decided that if you can't even PRETEND to be happy for me, then I don't need you around. This is going to be hard enough without worrying what YOUR problem is. Seriously.

That being said, OHMYGODIAMSOEXCITED.

Friday, January 06, 2006

Dear My Inlaws,

First of all, I would like to thank you for leading my husband on. For every time he's gotten off the phone, smiling, eyes shining and said, 'They say they can't wait to see the house!' or 'She says that they can come down this spring!' I thank you. I commend your Amazing Powers of Manipulation and your Thousands of Empty Promises.

Now. Maybe I am a LITTLE offended that you don't give enough of a shit to come see where we've lived for the last three years. Maybe it does annoy me a LITTLE bit that every time Tony wants to see you, I have to take unpaid time off work, have week-long anxiety attacks and nightmares about mean customs officers and drug my dog...all to spend a fun-filled week perched on that old couch next to the Man, watching televised horse racing in Italian, fighting the urge to bash my head in with that nasty-as-shit espresso maker you keep on the stove.

But, please. Please. When I invite you to my home to surprise your son for his thirtieth birthday party...MAYBE you shouldn't talk about what a HARD trip is it and how IMPOSSIBLE it seems and it just WOULDN'T BE FAIR TO THE DOG.

Fuck your dog.
Seriously.
She's old.
And irritating.
She could kick it any minute.

Do you think that if she DIES before Tony's birthday you could make it down for a visit?

Yeah.
I didn't think so.

Love,
K

P.S. Maybe next time you could come up with a halfway decent excuse? Yeah. Work on it.

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