I’ll give you all three guesses as to why I suddenly fell off the blogging platform over the last few months.
Could it be that…
a) I relocated to gay Paris and gave up all forms of modern communication in an effort to “find myself”, or
b) I once again fell and broke my wrist, thus rendering me virtually helpless and incapable of efficiently using a keyboard, or
c) I’m pregnant and have been confined to the couch in a near-catatonic state, leading me to believe that this kid is already out to get me, or
d) All of the above.
While “all of the above” would make for a more interesting blog post, the actual answer is C. I’m just pregnant. Fourteen weeks pregnant, to be exact.
And while most women on TV and in magazines have that delightful glow about them when they are in the family way, I, on the other hand, have had that holy-crap-I’ve-never-been-so-exhausted-and-nauseous-for-three-months-straight sort of look to me.
Seriously, peeps. There was no glow. That’s just a lie that non-pregnant people tell women in their first trimester in an effort to keep them from turning into complete emotional wrecks.
But I’ve successfully endured the dreaded first trimester and am actually feeling well enough to stay awake in the evenings after dinner. Yes! It’s true! The intense exhaustion is subsiding, and I can now sit down to eat AND keep my eyes open for an additional three hours before my actual bedtime.
The times, they are a changin’.
But I’m still convinced this kid is out to get me.