When you are a whopping 34 weeks pregnant and have spent much of the past week vomiting and being MEDICALLY TREATED for extreme nausea, the mysteriously alluring call of a Taco Bell quesadilla (seriously, haven’t been to that place in at least five years) is a siren song that is best ignored. Unless, of course, MORE heartburn and nausea and hugging of the commode is your goal. (Note to self: It is not!)
Sleep now, you fool. Scott is in charge of the “house stuff” and he’s a very capable guy. Not to mention that you SHOULDN’T be a part of any painting or ridiculously-heavy-furniture-assembling or drapery hanging. Oh, and hovering nervously in the background doesn’t show a great deal of trust in said capable guy…although it does show off a potentially serious control issue quite nicely. Go read a book, take a nap, watch some TV. Scott’s got it under control.
I saw you, Mr. Fed-Ex. You delivered three very heavy boxes to our house yesterday, and you just propped them against the garage door and hightailed it out of there…leaving the “Fed-Ex delivered your package…” note adhered to one of the boxes. Really? You can’t even give a courtesy knock? What am I supposed to do with three 70-pound boxes? It’s going to drive me crazy that they’re just sitting out there in plain sight…but I’m pretty sure that when I promised Scott that I wouldn’t do anything stupid, that ruled out hauling/shoving/straining to move furniture boxes clearly stamped with “TEAM LIFT” labels into the garage. Hmph.
I’ve always been a bit scornful of people who need six layers, a parka, and those little hand warmer packets before they can get out and exercise in the winter. “Come now, folks,” I chuckle to myself. “Exercise warms you up…you don’t NEED to be toasty and warm before you even get started!” Silly, silly people. Or, rather…silly, silly me. (1) As I’ve learned in the past few months, walking doesn’t warm you up nearly as efficiently as running does. I remember all too well the late October morning that I naively left the apartment dressed as I would to RUN in 40 degrees. B-r-r-r-r! (2) Everyone experiences “warm” and “cold” differently and has different expectations for what’s “comfortable.” (3) Kansas winter wants to bite my face off. Last week, it was -15 with the wind chill one day. Those are the kinds of temps that literally rip the breath right from your body when you step outside. Good grief.
I snack the most on evenings when “The Biggest Loser” is on. What’s up with that?
“Sympathy weight gain” is a big, fat lie. Scott’s started running again, and while I’m very happy for him (because I’m a good person and supportive wife, blah blah blah) it’s starting to tick me off. Why? Oh, because he’s dropping weight like some kind of teenager while the kiddo and I are setting records on the scale. Hmph. I know, I’m supposed to be gaining weight. No, I’m not going to do anything stupid like diet or actively try to shed any pounds. It’s not even my number that bothers me so much. It’s just that, based on current projections, before all is said and done I will weigh more than Scott. He is greatly amused by this prospect. I am not. Of course, I brought this all on myself by marrying a fella whose family referred to him as “stick boy,” so I’m planning to handle the situation with the utmost maturity. Anyone know any impossible-to-resist recipes that will stick to the stick boy’s ribs? 🙂