It

I am officially and undeniably knocked up! And my cozy state of being is all askew and I don't feel like myself anymore. (Nooo, not the person who used to earn a living, and not even the person who came after that...)

My regular clothes don't fit and the maternity stuff looks deflated. Guess what part of me is not deflated? Besides my tummy? We're talking floatation device and its seriously throwing me off balance.

When said-British friend told me I was bloomin', my mouth started watering as my mind wandered to the blooming onion in a Homer Simpson moment. The appetite is roaring. The sense of smell is supercharged. The bladder...well, the bladder's not really pulling his weight. So at four am, after three nocturnal pees, I have seriously contemplated the merit of adult diapers. But its just mother nature preparing me, right?

Maybe the lack of peaceful sleep has put me on a hormonal roller coaster. Mostly its elation, but sometimes I go off on people like yesterday when I told my neighbor to "stop face-booking with my husband so much. God!" That was uncalled for and I will apologize if my kid doesn't get sick from his kid. My husband is also the beneficiary of many unprovolked pleasantries and might be wondering how to escape before too long.

Don't feel too bad for him, though. MMA is cock strutting amongst the roosters on our block. A few months ago at a guys' poker game, before the origination of this pregnancy (but close enough to make the story good) he foretold that when he decided it was time for us to have another baby, I would be pregnant. I can imagine the caveman wordmess that went on. Or perhaps he did his Master Yoda impression for the boys, "Do or do not...There is no try." I'll give him his fifteen minutes but virility does not exempt him from middle of the night duties.

And then there's Only Child. I'm starting to feel some kind of strange betrayal and empathy for him.

He knows a baby is coming, he knows this is going to be exciting...but I know he won't be prepared for the reality that he's going to have to share me forever and he won't even get an equal cut at first. He's already noticed that I don't pick him up as much as before and I've been too tired to play with him as intently as we used to. Yes, I know there's so much joy to look forward to, I just hope he doesn't feed the baby to the wolves before he falls in love with it. Maybe I should start ignoring him now, you know, to build up his endurance. (And not at all because I'm worried about my piece of pie.)

All silliness aside, I'm so thankful for all the joys that come with being pregnant and the promise of a new little life. I'm excited and happy and desperately anxious to know if "it" is a he or a she.

And my wonderful husband just went to pick up a movie that I've been wanting to see so its good night, and you stay classy.

Little Woman Interrupted

This is a scholarly discourse on Pie and where the hell I've been.

I'm still alive and luxuriating from the intermission of blogging and everything else that doesn't absolutely require a piece of me. That doesn't include the husband or the three year old. They get theirs, believe me...

I remember Me Time prior to being a Mom. It was called every-second-of-the-day and I took it for granted because the "Me Pie" was more than enough. There was also more money to play with as I recall, but I digress.

MMA was afraid you might think he did something sinister to prevent me from blogging this long and has beseeched me to resume, "the sooner the better," he said. With an overly needy child in command of the house (who somehow manages to stay up every night until just minutes before we collapse in bed) it seems my husband learns most of what he knows about my day the same way you do. And he misses my alter ego online.

Well, for nigh a month now (and can you tell I'm fresh off a corset book?) I've been too tired to do much more than throw an occasional load of clothes in the wash and cook a simple meal. I find myself moodier than ever and reclusive. I just want to sleep and watch Dancing with the B-listers and reality show Stars and eat popcorn followed by a bowl of Blue Bell ice cream. (And shamefully, I've even been too tired for tricks and more than once paid full price when I knew a deal was within arms reach if I had, but a little more effort to put forth...) This is me, flailing. And hoarding my piece of the pie.

And watching my belly "bloom" (as my British friend puts it) and my face break out doesn't help me feel particularly outgoing. But OK, breaks over, I'm ready to shine again.

I will share my good news with you tomorrow...(feigned sigh) if I can manage the strength...

I will say this: sometimes its good to indulge one's self, but in general, with pie, sharing is better. And the more the merrier.