Trapped
After I had my two lovely trips to the hospital, Jeremy decided I shouldn't go anywhere alone (No, he's not being some sort of controlling male-type. He's genuinely concerned for me, especially since most of the time I'm like, "I'm fine, we need to go to Costco for bananas..." while I'm attempting to breathe through horrible back contractions while I am curled up in a ball on the floor/couch/bed....).
And frankly, I don't want to go anywhere with all the kidderoos, especially since trying to keep them all within a 3-foot radius is normally an impossible feat. I can only imagine what it would be like if I were in the middle of Wal-Mart and I suddenly go into full-blown labor. I think it would involve a lot of open packages of Oreos and socks, resulting in chocolate-covered, squealing children.
So, I'm landlocked here.
Trapped...
In my own house...
And body...
I have this itch to make things, and do things, but I can't sit for very long before it starts to get uncomfortable, plus all the stuff I want to make I can't yet.
I've decided I am going to become a skirt person after the baby is born and it's a tad warmer, so I bought all this fabric in preparation, and I thought to myself, "Gee, I could whip out a skirt!" and then I remember that I would have to measure my belly, and I'm not in the mood to make maternity skirts, thank you very much.
So, I'm playing the waiting game: waiting for baby, waiting to make stuff, waiting for normalcy.
My pregnancy book says mood swings are standard at this juncture, and they give some stupid reason like hormones wackage, or something, but I think it's really that pregnant women just get super sick and tired of carrying around a giant, wiggly bowling ball that sucks all the life and energy out of them.
Or it could be hormones.
Or could be something...else...
Jeremy was attempting to fix the shower curtain that was all wonky last night while I was washing my hair, making the cold shower liner come dangerously close to my horrified body, so I started batting back at him, getting more and more agitated, since I didn't know he was trying to fix it, and I thought he was just being a twit.
"STOP IT!" I screamed.
"What?" He replied innocently. "I was trying to fix it..."
"Well, I'm getting really angry!"
"Why?"
"I DON'T KNOW!"
Sigh....
I wonder if Jeremy feels trapped, too. Trapped with an insane, angry, beached whale.....
And frankly, I don't want to go anywhere with all the kidderoos, especially since trying to keep them all within a 3-foot radius is normally an impossible feat. I can only imagine what it would be like if I were in the middle of Wal-Mart and I suddenly go into full-blown labor. I think it would involve a lot of open packages of Oreos and socks, resulting in chocolate-covered, squealing children.
So, I'm landlocked here.
Trapped...
In my own house...
And body...
I have this itch to make things, and do things, but I can't sit for very long before it starts to get uncomfortable, plus all the stuff I want to make I can't yet.
I've decided I am going to become a skirt person after the baby is born and it's a tad warmer, so I bought all this fabric in preparation, and I thought to myself, "Gee, I could whip out a skirt!" and then I remember that I would have to measure my belly, and I'm not in the mood to make maternity skirts, thank you very much.
So, I'm playing the waiting game: waiting for baby, waiting to make stuff, waiting for normalcy.
My pregnancy book says mood swings are standard at this juncture, and they give some stupid reason like hormones wackage, or something, but I think it's really that pregnant women just get super sick and tired of carrying around a giant, wiggly bowling ball that sucks all the life and energy out of them.
Or it could be hormones.
Or could be something...else...
Jeremy was attempting to fix the shower curtain that was all wonky last night while I was washing my hair, making the cold shower liner come dangerously close to my horrified body, so I started batting back at him, getting more and more agitated, since I didn't know he was trying to fix it, and I thought he was just being a twit.
"STOP IT!" I screamed.
"What?" He replied innocently. "I was trying to fix it..."
"Well, I'm getting really angry!"
"Why?"
"I DON'T KNOW!"
Sigh....
I wonder if Jeremy feels trapped, too. Trapped with an insane, angry, beached whale.....
Comments