Today when I went upstairs with the laundry, I found a stick horse in my bed. Do you think it's a preschool mafia thing, or is there some more innocuous explanation?

And, on the flip side

I only allow myself to keep chocolate fudge in the house when I am pregnant. So I whipped up a batch last week, and had a delicious piece just this evening. Despite the fact that it made me nauseous to eat my dinner. Fudge never plays a girl false. What an eye rolling, noise making, borderline-drool-causing delight.

And tomorrow, I get to walk around the zoo for 4 hours with the Kraken and the Minotaur. And while I look forward to my daughter's squeals of delight, I am dreading the walking around for 4 hours part. Do you suppose the Minotaur would pull us both in the Radio Flyer wagon???

Milestones

I'm watching for milestones. Not the good ones, either, the ones you record with the camcorder, snap photos of for the grandparents far away. No, I'm peeling my eyes for the ones that will make me insane.

1. 6 1/2 weeks. That's when I started bleeding with the last pregnancy. If I can get past 6 1/2 weeks, I'll be doing better (like it's a contest).
2. 8 weeks. That's when I lost the baby. If I can make it past 8 weeks will I stop thinking about it and just relax?
3. 12 weeks. The end of the first trimester - supposedly a much lower risk of miscarriage after this point.

Will successfully reaching any of these milestones stop the undercurrent of worry that's trickling through all the gaps in a brain that is trying very hard to be tranquil?

Multitasking

It's Tuesday night. 9:20 PM. I should be sitting on my butt for the first time today, doing nothing. What am I doing?

1. Running in and out of the kitchen to check on the status of the cold cream I am brewing like a mad scientist on the stovetop.
2. Running in and out of the laundry room to perpetuate the endless cycle of dump, move, fold, hang.
3. Working. One of my employees is going to be out for a few weeks, so it's a little crazy right now.
4. Making a grocery list. Because god forbid I go two days without going to the store.
5. Blogging, because I won't have time to do it again for several days.
6. Hunting the Internet for coated labels for a little side venture I'm going to be starting (more on that later).

Sheesh. Even though I know how exhausted and brain dead I will be in the weeks when the baby comes, I am looking forward to those long Will and Grace rerun watching hours of sitting on the couch with a never-sated human parasite clamped to my breast. At least I will only be doing two things.

News

I got two lines this morning, ladies. Two lines. I'm actually feeling as peaceful as I can, under the circumstances. I am determined to be well, happy, and deal with what comes.

I am happy. I am so happy. I am scared. But I am so happy.

Slacking off again

Wow, has it really been almost a month since I posted? I actually did post, about 20 or 30 times. I just somehow never managed to get them typed in. Most of my best ideas for blog posts happen on my treadmill, and that's just not the best place to be jotting things down to blog about later. The last time I tried to multitask on the treadmill I whacked the garage door opener, slammed into the side of the treadmill, lost my balance, fell off the back, and landed in a pile of paint cans. Sad, but true story.

And speaking of the treadmill, I've been thinking a lot about self-image lately. My own, my daughter's. My own has been shaky at best for a number of years. Not that it was ever fantastic, but having a child definitely tossed me off the "you can be sexy if you just arrange the clothes right" bus. Now it's "you can be sexy if it's completely dark in the room". Not a fun bus to ride. And so I plod away on my treadmill 3 nights a week, trying to make some dent in the extra layer my daughter started, and I fine-tuned with cookie dough and Cadbury creme eggs. And it helps. I have more energy, I feel better. I even sleep better. But hey, I still had to buy a pair of pants this weekend that was two sizes bigger than my usual size, and about 4 sizes bigger than I was in college. Ugh.

It used to be that random people would compliment me on my appearance often. I don't mean to sound arrogant. But, I was actually pretty darned cute. Not to mention the fact that my clothing was usually designed to maximize reaction (read: kinda skanky). I was used to compliments, and usually responded to them with overly dramatic bows, snapping of fingers, and sassy head shakes.

These days, those compliments are few and far between. And when they do come they are such unfamiliar territory that I react to them with panic, immediately blurting out something inappropriate or even just bizarre. I had a cat like that once, who would quietly (but with devastating effect) fart whenever he was picked up by someone he didn't know very well. As a defense mechanism, it was pretty damned effective. Not many people were willing to pick him up more than once.

My daughter, when complimented (which is often, as I am in awe of her fabulousness, even when she is being a pain in my ass), simply smiles. Happy to be appreciated, glad to be on the receiving end of a compliment, but not in any way in need of one.

If I could figure out a way to bottle it, I could afford that personal trainer I so desperately want.