*sigh*

I've been through the joy now of shopping for maternity underwear. Of finding out there are to be no more ultrasounds for me, even though the 20-week one is standard (my doctor said it won't be necessary), so we won't be able to even have a chance to find out the baby's sex until he or she is born. Jason's Aunt Emily visited this weekend and was quite generous; we now own a new stroller, high chair, bouncy chair, five receiving blankets, a crib blanket, and some more maternity blouses.

My work load is not slowing down; I am now so far behind that I could work full days 7 days a week and still not be caught up. We have to drive to WV this week for Thanksgiving and to pick up our new car; this means a 5 hour drive back, alone, as Jason will drive the car we're taking down and I'll be driving the new one. We have gotten no Christmas shopping done, save a small gift for Jason's dad.

I am exhausted beyond all belief, saddened by the fact I will not be able to find out if our baby is a boy or a girl, worried that if something's wrong between now and then that we will not know because we cannot SEE the baby until May. I am tired. My clothes no longer fit properly; even my shoes are getting too small. And I fear that any dreams I have of someday being a published writer (a long shot, I am aware, and a dream I share with every frickin' person I know, but still a dream I have) will be snuffed out by the inability to write or think of anything but motherhood, paralegal work, checklists of errands and possible cures for sheer exhaustion.

Well, it's finally happened: I got the uninvited tummy rub.

I'm walking down the hall at work today, heading back to my desk, when one of my middle-aged female co-workers walks by me, reaches over, and without any warning just starts running her hand up n' down my abdomen. I don't care how much this is supposed to be sweet or whatever, my first instinct was to scream.

Jason can do this any time he wants to. His mother did it when we saw her this weekend, but I know her well enough to have expected it and saw it coming from a mile away. This, though - ACK. I am not one of those people. If there was an antonym for "touchy feely," it would be me. Ma'am, I am not a Buddha. Rubbing my belly will NOT bring you good luck. In fact, it may just bring the opposite. :-P

This, on top of the ever-present group of people who always find it necessary to point out how much my stomach is expanding (which doesn't help after a visit to my pregnant sister-in-law, Anne, whose baby is two weeks older than mine - I look like I'm due on New Year's and she looks like she ate one large meal.) Jason thinks this is just people being friendly. And truly, I know that is the intent. But y'know, there's a really hot attorney at the office, and I don't go rubbing his belly in the hallway and commenting on his abs. Why is it acceptable for people to do the same to ME, and in a non-flattering way?

At least I have some good news - a new scanner, which means hopefully some pictures soon! They won't be posted here (damn me and my lousy handle on HTML) but I should have a link sometime soon. That's my next project, though, after bed, work, guests stopping by in the upcoming weeks, going to WV for Thanksgiving (but rushing home in time to catch Mid-Ohio Con on Sunday!), getting Christmas shopping done....On second thought, don't hold your breath for those photos, folks, I'll get to them when I can. :)

I need to go into work today, I'm so far behind and I've only worked 40.5 hours this week (compared to the normal 37.5 per week of my normal schedule). But I'm feeling sick, as usual - not nausea so much as dizziness and this heavy heart-pounding I feel whenever I exert myself. And I'm not talking a 100-meter dash here, either. I'm talking about taking a shower. I'm short of breath, no matter what I'm doing nor how I'm carrying myself. (My pregnancy books tell me to sit up straight to breathe better, but that's not helping very much.) Jason is convinced I need more exercise, but with my crazy schedule plus his new one of working six days a week, often going until 7 p.m. in the evening, it's going to be hard for either one of us to find the time or the energy. Plus I don't think it will alleviate the blood rush to my head I get every time I bend down to do something (like grabbing a file from a bottom drawer, feeding the cat, picking up something I dropped, etc. Although this might explain the horrible feeling I get during the shower, as our shower stall has no shelves nor any way to install a shower caddy - I'm forced to bend down, pick up, then set back down my shampoo, body wash, and conditioner.)

If I want to see anything resembling a larger paycheck, I should go in now, but I'm still feeling awful. The crappy weather and the mess the house is in don't help my willpower. Nor does the fact that while most pregnant women claim to have vivid dreams, I had nothing but vivid nightmares last night. I'm so tired. I just wish I could take a very long nap this weekend and forget about work, but I fear the nightmares again too much. Trust me. Work will be better.

No photos for a while. The scanner was apparently broken somehow in the move. This means another $100 out-of-pocket for Maranie and Jason. This, after I still don't have a car. This, after we just replaced the roof that the home inspector said would last us another year or two, even though we later find out that the wood was showing from underneath the worn shingles. This, when I've been working overtime, despite my pregnancy fatigue and foggy-headedness, only to never make a dent in the mounds of work I have now. This, and our floors still aren't paid off. This, and Christmas is coming. This, and our dishwasher needs replaced. This, and our baby is on the way, and all the expense and worry that comes with him or her.

I was thinking that this feeling of wanting to cry 24-7 was solely pregnancy-related. Now, I'm not so sure.

Whoo-hoo!

Maranie finally enters the 21st century and gets a cable modem. Opening up a site or downloading the Instant Messenger update no longer take hours and freeze up the computer. This possibly means more posts, more updates, and - dare we dream? - some actual links to photos here soon!

*does the happy dance*

Life is good. :-)

I'm finally making the connection between soccer moms and soft rock stations (what my old friend Sara referred to as "flaccid rock"):

Flaccid rock does not entice you to drive like you're in the Indy 500. Music like Rob Zombie and Metallica DOES, therefore putting you and your offspring in danger. Of course, falling asleep at the wheel to Kenny G or feeling suicidal if you have to hear one more note of REO Speedwagon can't be preferable. Any suggestions of a happy medium, anyone? (And anyone who says Avril Lavigne gets slapped. That chick is annoying.)

Good news: The morning sickness seems to have abated. So has the crippling fatigue. Life is feeling kinda swanky again.

Bad news: My car got totalled this weekend, and guess who was driving it.

OK, first off, just for an FYI for anyone panicking right now, is that I seem to be fine and it seems the baby is fine too. Moving on.....

The gist of it is, I'm driving and a guy in a silver SUV makes a left-hand turn into my passenger side, thus knocking me into a complete 180. My passenger-side doors are shot; the front one will not open nor lock, while the back one is worse; I believe the handle has completely disenegrated. Upon opening the trunk, Jason and I see that the spare tire has come loose, and therefore has cracked the inside of the trunk somewhat.

I went to the hospital for back pain, and of course to check on the baby. The ultrasound showed Kiddo, and lemme tell ya, that kid was NOT HAPPY. He was throwing himself around my womb so much that the doctor was zig-zagging the sensor all over my abdomen to follow him. This means that, for what we can tell right now, my baby's OK. In fact, that level of activity (plus what the doctor on duty assured me was a good heartbeat, although he didn't give us a rate) was a very good sign. But it didn't look like a kid playing. It looked like a kid throwing a tantrum. Someone got some of Mommy's adrenaline in his system, didn't he? ;-P But Jason and I were worried as hell there for a while.

I'm not going into too much detail because of insurance details, claims, and of course the fact that I work here at a law office. I'm not much into incriminating myself, in case someone would wander onto this site. Right now, though, I'm upset at my missed afternoon. I needed to get work done and some extra pay, as did Jason (who I called away from work.) I did NOT need to be stressing over my baby, with a sore back, waiting in emergency rooms and wondering where the hell my car was towed to.

And for anyone who liked the Plymouth, had fond memories of it, yada yada, please bear in mind that while it is going to a repair shop, there's a good chance it's totalled. It's going to need a LOT of work, and it is a 1997 Breeze with 83k miles on it. Sorry, but it looks like bye-bye to the Bubblemobile (as my friend Jarrod dubbed it once a few years back.)

One thing I have to mention, though, is that when Jason got to the scene, he was amazed. Here's my car, and the silver SUV (which not only hit me hard but then veered off into someone's yard, shearing off a 15-foot evergreen tree and dragging it about 20 feet in the process), and he couldn't believe that with that much damage, there were no serious injuries. (The other guy drove away his vehicle. It was a Mercedes - if I ever get the money, I'm sold. I mean, DAMN. Although he did hit me hard enough that no one has been able to find his front license plate - who knows where it flew off to.) I think, all in all, both myself and the other guy were pretty lucky it wasn't worse, which I need to bear in mind as I go through the pain in the ass of calling insurance companies, driving my little Nissan rental, and harassing my sick husband to rub my stiff back.