Yeah, that's me today. I don't know why. Hormones, perhaps?
Oh, wait. It could be because I spent nine hours cleaning the house yesterday and making meals and dealing with one sick and one bored child. But the good news is that I have time to post before the inlaws get here.
Is it bad that my mother calls me to complain when I haven't blogged in a few hours? I've created a monster. Here's your blog entry, The Madre. I hope you bake me cookies or something for my effort.
This third pregnancy thing has been great in some ways and not so great in others. I'm more relaxed than I was with my first two. I sometimes drink *gasp* coffee that is only half-decaffeinated (!!) and I don't obsess over every little thing I put into my mouth (don't get any naughty ideas). I have far fewer bouts of sciatica and less hip discomfort. And, unlike my pregnancy with intrepid, I haven't had this terrible, itchy feeling under my skin 24/7 for several weeks. That was by far the worst torture I've ever experienced.
However, there's a downside. What's with this pubic pain? After cleaning up all day yesterday, I feel as though I just had a traumatic sexual encounter with a fence post. I can't get over how sore I am. That rules out any future career plans as a porn star (hey, it pays a lot more than daycare).
I have one pair of pants and one shirt that fit me from Gutsy's pregnancy. I spent upwards of $500 on maternity clothes and then lost a bunch of weight postpartum. I didn't realize how much, apparently, because I excitedly took all the stuff out of storage and tried everything on at around 12 weeks, only to feel like I was the 'after' in a Jenny Craig commercial. The two items I do have are huge on me, but I can wear them around the house without them falling off.
Speaking of falling off, every pair of pants that I bought for this pregnancy starts to fall as I walk (this could be an indication that the life of a porn star is indeed in my future). Look, I know I'm having my third child and would proudly wear the Naughty Preggo Shirt, but come on, now. I have no interest in showing off my maternity panties to the world as I've almost done on several occasions. Everyone says 'You should go for more walks. It's good for you!'. I don't know if the health benefits would outweigh the social suicide I'd be committing by flashing my pregnant buttocks around the neighbourhood.
"Mommy, is that a beluga whale?"
"No, sweety. That's a pregnant lady's bum. Let's go inside, now..."
Gutsy is using Intrepid's keyboard beside me. He just randomly selected 'The Look of Love' from the demo songs. What a player. I predict at least two young women showing up at the door in about twenty years with babies that look suspiciously like him. That would be because he was born when I was 26, not 30. And as the experts have established, that spells a lifetime of trouble. Let this be a lesson to every young woman who dreams of having maternity pants that easily fall down to her ankles.
Oh, wait. It could be because I spent nine hours cleaning the house yesterday and making meals and dealing with one sick and one bored child. But the good news is that I have time to post before the inlaws get here.
Is it bad that my mother calls me to complain when I haven't blogged in a few hours? I've created a monster. Here's your blog entry, The Madre. I hope you bake me cookies or something for my effort.
This third pregnancy thing has been great in some ways and not so great in others. I'm more relaxed than I was with my first two. I sometimes drink *gasp* coffee that is only half-decaffeinated (!!) and I don't obsess over every little thing I put into my mouth (don't get any naughty ideas). I have far fewer bouts of sciatica and less hip discomfort. And, unlike my pregnancy with intrepid, I haven't had this terrible, itchy feeling under my skin 24/7 for several weeks. That was by far the worst torture I've ever experienced.
However, there's a downside. What's with this pubic pain? After cleaning up all day yesterday, I feel as though I just had a traumatic sexual encounter with a fence post. I can't get over how sore I am. That rules out any future career plans as a porn star (hey, it pays a lot more than daycare).
I have one pair of pants and one shirt that fit me from Gutsy's pregnancy. I spent upwards of $500 on maternity clothes and then lost a bunch of weight postpartum. I didn't realize how much, apparently, because I excitedly took all the stuff out of storage and tried everything on at around 12 weeks, only to feel like I was the 'after' in a Jenny Craig commercial. The two items I do have are huge on me, but I can wear them around the house without them falling off.
Speaking of falling off, every pair of pants that I bought for this pregnancy starts to fall as I walk (this could be an indication that the life of a porn star is indeed in my future). Look, I know I'm having my third child and would proudly wear the Naughty Preggo Shirt, but come on, now. I have no interest in showing off my maternity panties to the world as I've almost done on several occasions. Everyone says 'You should go for more walks. It's good for you!'. I don't know if the health benefits would outweigh the social suicide I'd be committing by flashing my pregnant buttocks around the neighbourhood.
"Mommy, is that a beluga whale?"
"No, sweety. That's a pregnant lady's bum. Let's go inside, now..."
Gutsy is using Intrepid's keyboard beside me. He just randomly selected 'The Look of Love' from the demo songs. What a player. I predict at least two young women showing up at the door in about twenty years with babies that look suspiciously like him. That would be because he was born when I was 26, not 30. And as the experts have established, that spells a lifetime of trouble. Let this be a lesson to every young woman who dreams of having maternity pants that easily fall down to her ankles.