It's midnight and I should be sleeping. However, I have an appointment in the morning to go check out some cloth diapers and most of my limited preggo wardrobe isn't quite dry yet. Our dryer has "issues". It's getting old and senile. It forgets to turn itself off sometimes, despite the timer.
So here I sit, writing in my blog while The Madre (no idea why she's still awake, by the way) is typing my eyes off in a Yahoo window. I don't quite understand why she bothers me when I don't blog enough, yet takes up my limited computer time telling me what I'm going to make her for dinner tomorrow (no, I didn't invite her for dinner. If I invite her, she won't come. But if she invites herself she never misses it. The exception, of course, is if I've already gone out and purchased the meal fixings. Then she'll be sure to call and let me know that she was kidding and that she's already made herself dinner).
To complicate matters, my mother likes to give me advice that takes me several weeks to sort out. For example, as we were leaving the thrift store on the weekend, she graced me with this little tidbit:
It went something like that. I'm thinking of putting that on her gravestone when the unfortunate time comes. Then passers by can enjoy her wisdom as I have for the last twenty-nine years.
Earlier this evening I decided I would go for a walk in my fancy new digs. Did I mention that I now own two pairs of maternity yoga pants? They're damn cute. I told Thac0 how adorable I looked today and how I wished I had a working digital camera to take a picture (Geekster has already informed me that I will be getting one for my 30th birthday. It would be of much use to take a picture of the 'I put out for lattes' shirts I'm going to have made for Jobthingy and myself.) So anyway, I went for a nice little power walk with my MP3 player and the wind at my back. One problem: there are these things called round ligaments that don't like it when I power walk while pregnant. So the entire session lasted about 10-15 minutes. Major bummer. I came home, pouting and feeling defeated, then dove into a donut and sat resentfully on the couch.
I'm starting to get fairly uncomfortable. The biggest problem right now is the pain I have from my pubic syphilis
I bet you clicked on that link mighty fast, didn't you? Yeah, I know you did.
I call it that because it's easier to remember than the clinical name. I threw out three packages of unopened cheese today while I was cleaning out my fridge. Do you think I can remember medical terms? Hardly. So yes, my pubis paininthecrotchis is a new development in this pregnancy. I've had maybe two icky sciatica days and very little hip pain. I truly believed I was out of the woods. Naturally, being the egocentric person I am, I credited my pain-free pregnancy to the 4km runs, yoga and strength training sessions I did regularly prior to getting knockedupidus. That came back and kicked me in the teeth like a rabid horse (or would a rabid horse bite instead? Hmm... Things to ponder in my sleep tonight).
Off to bed. But before I go, remember this:
Ah, maternal genetics at their finest.
So here I sit, writing in my blog while The Madre (no idea why she's still awake, by the way) is typing my eyes off in a Yahoo window. I don't quite understand why she bothers me when I don't blog enough, yet takes up my limited computer time telling me what I'm going to make her for dinner tomorrow (no, I didn't invite her for dinner. If I invite her, she won't come. But if she invites herself she never misses it. The exception, of course, is if I've already gone out and purchased the meal fixings. Then she'll be sure to call and let me know that she was kidding and that she's already made herself dinner).
To complicate matters, my mother likes to give me advice that takes me several weeks to sort out. For example, as we were leaving the thrift store on the weekend, she graced me with this little tidbit:
"When you don't have much, then what you want is less and you get less, but you can't have more but it's ok because you realize you don't need it because you don't have much anyway."
It went something like that. I'm thinking of putting that on her gravestone when the unfortunate time comes. Then passers by can enjoy her wisdom as I have for the last twenty-nine years.
Earlier this evening I decided I would go for a walk in my fancy new digs. Did I mention that I now own two pairs of maternity yoga pants? They're damn cute. I told Thac0 how adorable I looked today and how I wished I had a working digital camera to take a picture (Geekster has already informed me that I will be getting one for my 30th birthday. It would be of much use to take a picture of the 'I put out for lattes' shirts I'm going to have made for Jobthingy and myself.) So anyway, I went for a nice little power walk with my MP3 player and the wind at my back. One problem: there are these things called round ligaments that don't like it when I power walk while pregnant. So the entire session lasted about 10-15 minutes. Major bummer. I came home, pouting and feeling defeated, then dove into a donut and sat resentfully on the couch.
I'm starting to get fairly uncomfortable. The biggest problem right now is the pain I have from my pubic syphilis
I bet you clicked on that link mighty fast, didn't you? Yeah, I know you did.
I call it that because it's easier to remember than the clinical name. I threw out three packages of unopened cheese today while I was cleaning out my fridge. Do you think I can remember medical terms? Hardly. So yes, my pubis paininthecrotchis is a new development in this pregnancy. I've had maybe two icky sciatica days and very little hip pain. I truly believed I was out of the woods. Naturally, being the egocentric person I am, I credited my pain-free pregnancy to the 4km runs, yoga and strength training sessions I did regularly prior to getting knockedupidus. That came back and kicked me in the teeth like a rabid horse (or would a rabid horse bite instead? Hmm... Things to ponder in my sleep tonight).
Off to bed. But before I go, remember this:
You can lead a rabid horse to water, but you can't make him drink. Unless of course he's really thirsty. Then he'll drink, but he might foam on you and you'll need shots in your belly.
Ah, maternal genetics at their finest.