Monday, November 26, 2007

To the extreme I rock a mic like a vandal

Pregnancy. Gotta love it. Why is it, though, that pregnancy is filled with extremes, from one end of the spectrum to the other, and, with each subsequent pregnancy, said extremes come earlier and are much more...well, extreme?

Take, for instance, morning sickness. For the majority of this pregnancy, I haven't been able to look at a crumb of dry toast without running to the toilet to throw up things my grandmother ate. However, there have been days, like today, where I can't seem to get enough to eat. There I was, sitting on the couch while the baby slept, innocently watching LMN, and before the movie was over, I had eaten an entire ball of port wine cheddar with almonds (God bless those holiday cheese balls) and a pomegranate. I feel like Grover running back and forth in an empty room saying "near.....far....," except for me it's "eat.....puke...." and I'm running from the fridge to the toilet.

Another blessing? You leak when you're pregnant. From every oriface imagineable. Except when you're not dripping/juicy/overly lubricated, you're dry. As a bone. In the desert those Kid Nation kids call home. Extremes. Diarrhea. Constipation. Runny nose. Dry nose. Leaking God knows what from God knows where, only to be faced with the oppostie dilemma the very next day.

Weepy. Homicidal. Insomnia. Exhaustion. Get me that Duggar woman on the phone. I need to know why she did this...what, 17 times? It's a wonder she's not holed up in the nut hatch somewhere.

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