inhale. exhale. repeat.

Today I thought, "Wouldn't it be great to be a monkey?" That way, I could fling poo at the people I don't like and then when they say, "Why the hell did you fling that poo at me," I'd just shrug and say, "Cause I'm a monkey."

I feel better now. I won't let that stupid comment get to me because there are more stupid people out there. The people in my life whom I love and care about are genuinely happy for me, and that's what matters.

Still, being a monkey would be kind of fun.

poo on their heads

I told some ex-coworkers today about the marriage and pregnancy. The one person whom I thought would be warm and receptive actually said, "If that were me, I would throw myself down the stairs multiple times."

WHO SAYS THAT TO A PREGNANT WOMAN??? WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO CONGRATULATIONS????

preggo update

Now that the morning sickness has disappeared, I've had another what-the-hell-is-happening-to-my-body-moment: hot flashes. At first I thought, wtf? I can't be having menopause because my womb is obviously fertile. At work the other day, I was holding a cold water bottle to my neck just as the president of the university walked by. Great. Not that he'd care about a lowly office-runt, but still. Not attractive.

I feel like I've joined some secret society. Every mother has a story and I appreciate all the suggestions. Some say that I'll lose the baby weight if I nurse, others say it'll say on for the same reason. Whenever I tell someone I'm pregnant, I feel the eyes target my belly, as if I'm supposed to be protruding already. Do I need to give a disclaimer? I'm not showing, I'm just out-of-shape.

Probably the best part of being pregnant is what it's done to my attitude. I used to dread being late. I stressed myself easily. Now, I've become this odd zen-Mona. I am slow to anger. Before, I drove with one hand on the wheel, the other hand clenched in an angry shaking fist. Now it's like, "Dude, you want to pass me? Go ahead."

And there's all the shopping that needs to be done. I read this article that mentions a $600 stroller that saved a baby from a collapsing building. When I told Mike this, he said, "When are we going to be around a collapsing building?"

All the women I see are divided into two categories: pregnant and not-pregnant. I'm interested in those women who are pregnant right now. I went to the mall the other day and I saw a girl who couldn't have been older than 15 with a belly so big, it probably arrived five minutes before she did. I wondered how she would make it, hell, how I would make it. When this baby is born, I will have my college degree and an extended family eagerly waiting to say hello to my hatchling.

go together like a horse and carriage

So being married is different. If Mike and I were at a bar and some jerk bumped into me, I could easily say, "My boyfriend's going to kick your ass!" But now it's like, "My husband's going to kick--wait, nevermind--I don't want you to hurt him." I mean, I kind of want the guy to stick around for a while.

I started a new job here at the university and I love it. It's not glamorous, but my boss is really nice and supportive and I like my co-workers. I don't have to deal with man-hating bosses or yupppie customers. The one thing that I have noticed is that I'm no longer getting sick, which is a blessing, but at the same time, I wonder, "Where did you go oh obvious-sign-of-pregnancy?" Maybe at my next doctor's visit, I'll ask them to measure my chest, too, because those measurements matter to me.

The Canadian honeymoon was great. I don't the metric system, but I'm not good with numbers, anyway. I did notice that once I entered Vancouver, I became the fattest person in the city. I think that's partly due to pregnancy, but mostly due to my medical condition: junk in the trunk. It's a scientific term, look it up. We went to Stanley Park where the 25th Annual Terry Fox Run was held, but I didn't know who the hell Terry Fox was, so I kept my stupid non-Canadian mouth shut and watched runners pass us by. We went to a touristy island and had lunch. We went downtown and were kicked out of a store for taking photos, sassed by a homeless guy, gave money to a tweaked out homeless girl and sat in a trendy club with beds where chairs should have been.

It was hard to get into the country because Mike didn't have a passport with him, but leaving was a breeze. Mike got into a conversation with the immigration guy about the college and pro-football games and I guess American-football-man-talk is enough proof of citizenship.

off.

going to vancouver today for my honeymoon. be back soon, yo.

labor force.

Today I was offered two jobs and one interview. Where were these people a couple of weeks ago when I was unemployed and hating myself? I guess I should take back those things I said about my ex-boss, even if I don't want the job.

gestational hypersexuality

It's true about pregnant women and dreams. My dreams of late have been vivid and hyper-sexed and hyper-stressed. In the first few days of pregnancy, I dreamt that I was in the bathroom, taking a pregnancy test but instead decided to pee on Mike's toothbrush instead. And it felt good. Last night's dream involved Mike and I getting into a fight because he insisted on seeing a movie on Madison, but I told him there wasn't a theatre on that street. Later, I saw an old classmate whom I found out posed naked for websites. She told me that she had a crush on me and I asked her what ever happened to that. I'm wearing a black stretchy dress and I lift the girl up in my arms. My mother comes out and tells me not to stress my back and a former coworker walks out and musses up my hair.

Did you know that you can get diabetes while you're pregnant and once you pop the baby out, *poof* it's gone. Are these dreams something like that? Craziness.

hatchling

Sometimes, I won't be thinking about anything in particular and then it hits me: I'm going to have a baby. There are so many things I can't do or eat. I can't go on bumper car rides or sit in hot tubs. I can't eat soft cheese or drink coffee and diet coke like I used to. I can't eat sushi or sashimi! :( There are funny restrictions, though. Like I shouldn't look at the flying fish at Pike's Place Market because my baby will come out flopping. And I should relinquish all hate I have, or else my baby will look like that person.

I'm saying goodbye to foods, but I'm saying hello to cleavage! I'm thinking of taking pictures of myself from the chest up, or depending on how fat my face becomes, my chest only.

I was most terrified of telling my mother. When I broke the news to her, she was the most sweet and comforting, telling me I would have a mu�eka, or doll.

A girl would be nice, but I just want a healthy baby. Ten fingers, ten toes, and if it's a boy, two balls. That's all.

in utero

So the conversations have been going mostly like this:

Me: I haven't done much today. Mike and I went to the doctor, found out we're pregnant---oh but I went to the fabric store today and got this great brocade...
Other person: WHAT?!? Oh my God!!!
Me: I know! It was on sale!!!

I wonder if it's too early to feel unsexy. Because that's how I feel right now. There isn't anything glamorous about morning sickness, or in my case, morning-afternoon-and-night-sickness. I keep thinking, I'll have to put away my sexbomb outfits and hooker-heels for a paisley mumu and fat-feet-flip-flops. Goodbye, Mona's sex appeal.

And I'm tired. I yawn, but it's not one of those tee-hee dainty yawns. I'm talking full-on West African baboon yawns. I don't even cover my mouth since I know I'm going to be gaping open for at least five minutes. And folks, let me tell you how attractive that isn't.

It's early and already difficult. I have a lot of support, though, from family and friends who know how much I want this hatchling. My sister Arlene is particularly funny about it, telling me to put perfume on my stomach so bad spirits won't come after it.

Stay tuned.

bloated bag of hate

I've been irritable lately and pissed off at certain people, well, one person. I applied for a job at X corporation and some stupid idiot there called my former boss for a reference check even though this person isn't listed as a reference. The thing is, my former boss is a bloated bag of hate and I wouldn't put it past ex-boss to say shit about me, because bloated bags of hate do that. I should know.

If I were a monkey, I would fling poo.

the man

Mike and I have frequented the neighborhood Subway so often, that whenever we go there on our own, the vietnamese woman who prepares our sandwiches always asks, "Where's the man?" or "Where's the woman?" She also asks me if I'm working even when I saunter in, wearing my Dora the Explorer footed pajamas (styling!). Today I walked in by myself, and she asked, "Where's the man?" So I said, "The man is everywhere. The man is everywhere."