I’ve started this post in my head a million times. On any
given day it is an angry post, a joyful post, a selfish post, a deeply personal
post, or my usual “snarky tidbits.” I’ve decided just to toss something out
there, so here goes:
I’m pregnant! It’s a boy, and he’s due at the end of May.
And that, basically, is all the information that I consider even remotely any of your business. Just as most pregnant women don’t want some weirdo
randomly touching their stomach (seriously…you will LOSE that hand), neither do
most pregnant women want some weirdo/acquaintance/relative randomly asking:
- Was this a surprise?
- What took you so long? or (my favorite)…
- How old are you? (asked with way too much incredulity)
And yes, I’ve heard all of those questions.
So there you have it. Think it through first, people.
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In other news, I've spent the day huddled on the couch with my laptop, listening to the heat pump run and the power bill rise. There was a brief, frustrating conversation with the dog this morning:
Me: It's too cold outside to go for a walk. You'll have to hold in your poop until tomorrow.
What Tilly Heard:........go for a walk........poop.
She regretted her enthusiasm when I shoved her into a toddler-sized fleece hoodie in an attempt to keep her warm. We made it back unscathed, and she has spent the afternoon curled up on her dog bed with an afghan my Grandma crocheted. Her life is hard.
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So after a
disastrous trip to Miami two years ago, and Jeremy consequently having attended 2 of Clemson's 3 worst bowl game losses in history, we put in place a self-imposed ban on bowl game travel. Naturally, the last two years have seen two pretty amazing victories. It could be a coincidence. Or it could be that Tiger fans everywhere should be thanking their lucky stars that J and I kept our butts at home (further evidence...our trip to Clemson during this year's FSU game. Oy vey.).
I'm forever trying to figure out why I get so grumpy this time of year. Yes, the holidays are over. It's dark and cold. We're bombarded with messages and ads that make us think we have to be thinner, better, stronger, simply because a page in the calendar flipped over. And don't get me started on the phrase, "New Year, New You!" Whoever came up with that deserves some sort of public shaming ceremony.
However, I've long since given up making resolutions. And pretty routinely, J and I take a quick jaunt somewhere warm. I'm certainly not going to concern myself with getting thinner this year. So what's the deal? Is there some January-based adolescent trauma I'm repressing? (I mean, there most likely is, but the adolescent trauma was more of a year-round thing for me). Perhaps I'll never know...I'll just keep trudging along through January until I walk right into the soft cushion of day-after-Valentine's half-priced candy.
