Still pregnant, Internet. I promise I’m not just making this up to increase page views on my blog while I sit here with a 3-week-old infant in my arms, laughing at everyone’s expense. I kind of feel like I’m doing that thing that TV shows do: draaaagging out plot lines and stretching them further and further so that you have to tune in next week, even though you know full well the couple who has been flirting for three seasons still won’t end up together, but what the hell else are you going to do with your Thursday nights?
Let’s face it: Thursday nights haven’t been the same since retina-searing sweaters left the scene.
I’m a little disheartened this morning because the contractions that usually ramp up in the evenings and continue until around 4am just…didn’t last night. And despite getting a better night’s sleep because the contraction alarm clock was apparently stuck on snooze, I’m FUCKING EXHAUSTED. What the fuck, body? It seems like my uterus is the sort that lies about her qualifications in an interview to get the job (“Suuuuure, I know how to have babies…”), gets lucky with the first few assignments (“Pregnancy? No problem!”), but then eventually panics and gets found out when crunch time hits (“Uh…labor? Contractions? Can someone give me a quick refresher on that?”).
Yes, I just compared my uterus to a untrustworthy and underqualified employee. Let’s move on, shall we?
I don’t know about you guys, but MAN am I ever tired of thinking/talking about pregnancy and babies. Unfortunately, my levels of concentration are running a bit low these days, but in the interest of writing something non-vagina-related on this blog, I’m just going to present a list of random thoughts that have been occurring to me/things that have happened IN THE 2 HOURS OF FREE TIME I HAVE BETWEEN CONTRACTIONS. Ahem.
- I am still watching Paranormal State. I still can’t watch it unless Brad is sitting there with me, and it can’t be the last thing I watch before going to bed (I usually have to cleanse the palate with a re-run of The Office or Family Guy afterwards), but I’m watching. And you know what’s crap? At least 50% of the time they are able to establish for the people that they’re helping that YES, weird shit is going on in your house – but then? They just kind of leave. And the little “update” that comes on the screen right before the credits usually says something like “Anita and her daughter are still experiencing paranormal activity in her home and routinely see the severed head of the past owner hovering above the bathtub, but they report that they are no longer afraid.”
For real? They’re “no longer afraid?” Well, that’s great for them, but if I hired those motherfuckers to come ghostbust my house and I was still seeing shit after they left, I would be RIGHT PISSED. I’d want an exorcism, a house blessing, a woman covered in strawberry Jell-O pulled through a staticky television – whatever it takes. I will say, however, that one of the awesomest parts of that show is the psychic that they sometimes bring in to help out: Chip Coffey. Not only does he have a delicious name and seems to be the real deal as far as psychic abilities are concerned, but he’s pretty much the real-life version of Mr. Garrison, which is endlessly entertaining to me.
“I sense that Mr. Hat experienced something very traumatic in this room…”
- Brad has brought it to my attention that every time we happen to watch an episode of Sex & The City, I am bound to utter, “What the FUCK is she wearing?!” about Carrie at least once. It was especially prevalent when we were watching the movie the other day on HBO, but can you blame me? What the fuck IS she wearing most of the time?!
- I am a terrible person who is kind of saddened by the fact that I’m going to have to curtail my cursing once the baby gets here and, you know, starts learning how to speak. Just what am I going to say when watching Sex & The City re-runs with the baby?
And what do you mean ‘She shouldn’t be watching Sex & The City re-runs?’ How will I keep her occupied while I’m at the bar?
- I was infinitely amused by the message on my phone the other day from my regular gynecologist’s office, reminding me that it’s been a year since my annual appointment. I really wanted to schedule and appointment and come in pretending to be completely oblivious to the fact that I’m massively pregnant.
- I’m talking about pregnancy again, aren’t I? DAMMIT.
- Does anyone else get really invested in the meteorologists on The Weather Channel? CFoST and I are in agreement that Nicole Mitchell is an alien and now-retired Marshall Seese was a lovable old dirty bird. Jim Cantore, on the other hand, knows precisely how cool he is and has no patience for being asked stupid questions while nearly getting blown off a pier in a hurricane.
Y’all better recognize.
- I finally had to take Amy Winehouse’s “Rehab” off of my iPod because, well, she really does need to go to rehab, and it kept depressing me every time I listened to it.
- I could seriously eat spaghetti & marinara sauce for every meal.
- We totally Netflixed “Twilight” so we could see what all the teen girl squealing is about. From what I understand, it’s a movie with vampires and there’s lots of sexual tension but no one actually Does It.
- This is one of the most brilliant things I’ve seen all week.
I think that’s a good ending point, don’t you? Tune in tomorrow for another update from the Cervix Chronicles. I’ll be hoping for more exciting news to share, even if that means something really gross and fluid-related happens at work today.
I totally brought a towel to work with me yesterday JUST IN CASE. And it was one of those flowery embroidered towels with a huge rose on it that my mother-in-law gave me that I’m never sure are for ACTUAL use or just for show, so I decided to split the difference and make it for mopping up amniotic fluid. Thanks, mother-in-law!
Entry filed under: And you KNOW THIS!.