Captain’s Log Week 31, Day 2 or 3. I am perpetually exhausted and sore almost all over. Since the weather has been cooperating for the past week, I’ve started to pick up walking again, even if my route is less than half the distance it used to be. I’m convinced that this quarter-mile slow waddle has me sleeping better at night. If I’m moving, I’m out of breath; sometimes I’m out of breath just sitting down–which if I can help it, I do a lot of. I can’t eat much in one sitting without getting a crazy case of heartburn, yet I’m hungry all the time. I crave eggs–the one food I normally can’t stomach. I can only put flip-flops on my poor, tender and swollen feet. I am weepy and hormonal. I’ve cried for no apparent reason almost everyday over the past week. I be straight trippin’.
I long for beer. My husband brought home a pack of Miller Chills, Chelada Style, the other day. My mouth watered. I died a little inside everytime he took a sip. And you know things are bad when you’re actually trying to catch a whiff of your husband’s beer belches.
Today I had dreams of Easter shopping at Walmart. I let go of them at 3:30 when I woke up from a nap and realized that I still had not had a shower nor had I finished any of the chores I set out to get done this morning. I called Caleb and now my very specific, color-coded Easter list is in his hands. The last time this happened he came home with every kind of chocolate-covered-whatnot known to man. He bought himself some cherry-cordials and hid them for over a year, only to find them the following Easter when he bought and hid some more. I shudder to think what he might be putting in the cart even as we speak.
Life has been a bit stressful around here lately. We bounce between being super-stoked about all things baby to being plagued with worry about Caleb’s job–he’s hanging in there and things do look a smidge brighter than they did only 3 days ago. But then, that’s always the case with his business. If all else fails, I can go to work as a full-time rubber-dummy painter.
Well, no, I can’t, but wouldn’t that be pretty much the sweetest career EVER? I’d have to hone my craft though; my sister’s boyfriend is a tatoo-ninja and I hope to consult him next time to make my homies look even more authentic.
And last but not least, 2 words: SPACE BAGS. I succumbed to the info-mercials and decided to try those puppies out for myself. Caleb and I sucked down a closet full of bulky coats, a wall full of hardly-ever-worn dress clothes, 2 twin comforters and a couple cozy blankets. They are amazing! Need more room but don’t want to get rid of any of your old crap? Get some SPACE BAGS! That way you can put THAT MUCH MORE stuff you never will use into your already over-packed attic. But hey–you’ll have an empty shelf in your linen closet! In our case, we were making way in our master closet for a crib–mission accomplished. Thank you, Space Bags!
I should so get paid to advertise for these people. On top of the money I’d get for painting rubber people, Caleb could just quit his job. And then maybe he’d have time to eat the cherry cordials he’s bound to buy and hide.