- Thanks to about five Luna bars, I can finally take a dump.
- I am sick and tired of looking for a new house.
- I am neither sick nor tired of planning my Chicago trip with Aughra and Poo. We booked our hotel this week – yay!
- Children are more impatient about an impending baby than the pregnant mother.
- I have been so busy at work and it’s really quite nice.
- He may be a twat in real life, but I’ll watch Steve Coogan in anything.
Last night, Scott and I spent way too much time and had way too much fun with this site. We joked that we’d just give our baby four consecutive names from the list, like Commodore Bradley Meyer Lillian. Or Tiny Byrd Celestia Tennessee. We joke now, but watch, it may happen. It’s by far the most inspiring source of baby names I’ve yet to come across.
Some curious names are on the list, though. For boys: Maude, Cora, Grace, Alice, Martha, Louise, Doc, and Lemon. For girls: Glenn, Icy, Lular, Tempie, Mintie, Floy, James, and Missouri.
Kya: Mommy, I have something really important to tell you.
Me: Yeah? What’s that?
K: (lowers voice to loud whisper) I really do have a boyfriend.
Me: You do?
K: Yes. And he is invisible.
Me: Oh. Well that’s better than a real one, anyway.
I am at the beginning of my third month of pregnancy. Scott won’t let me get away with saying I’m three months pregnant (“That’s like saying you’re 31 on your 30th birthday.”), but I’m definitely done with two months. And those first two months were shitty. I don’t recall ever feeling more ugly, antisocial, depressed, or apathetic. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not all flowers and sunshine now, nor do I think I’ll ever be, but I’m definitely feeling better. I can maintain a friendly conversation for longer than ten seconds, so that’s a start. Once winter is over and I can open windows in my house, I will feel much, much happier.
One thing I have been feeling up to lately is cooking. Last night, I made a strawberry cheesecake (breakfast for my coworkers) and chocolate-covered strawberries for a friend to give her boyfriend for V-Day. This morning, I made heart-shaped pancakes with strawberries and confectioner’s sugar for Kya. But I didn’t take any pictures of them.
I feel like getting things done. I feel like getting off my ass. I don’t feel so much like puking and sleeping all the time, so at least I have that.
The following is an actual conversation between me and Scott. We’re in bed, and it’s maybe 1 AM.
Something rock and roll is said and S flashes me the sign for “I love you.”
Me: Uh, don’t you mean (I flash him the devil horns, no thumb sticking out)?
S: Uh, no. This (insert “I love you” sign here) is how you do it.
Me: No way, man. That’s sign language for “I love you.” The “rock and roll” sign is the devil horns (index finger and pinky extended, thumb curved over middle two fingers). Don’t go to a concert and raise your arms and say “I love you.”
S: I always thought it was that way (“I love you” sign).
Me: Well, it could be. Your thumb could be a giant cock (I waggle my thumb suggestively).
S: Yeah, that’s pretty rock and roll – “I love you with my giant devil cock.” Ha. There’s your blog post right there.