it’s not about you

Anyone with a TV in a cat-free house want to let us come over and watch the State of the Union on Tuesday? And feed us dinner? Anyone?

S.F offers more wireless access than any other US city.

My friend Becky, who, to my knowledge doesn’t have a blog, called yesterday. She’s been trying to get hold of me for a couple of weeks now. The thought that I was avoiding her crossed her mind, but she checked my blog. She (a) knows I’m pregnant and (b) saw the lack of frequent posting. Becky put a and b together and figured out I must really be having it bad.

And I am. Could I feel sicker? As of yesterday, I am no longer eating sharp cheddar. Figure it out. If I haven’t posted, it’s because I am trying to spend as much time as possible laying down, doing nothing, and hopefully sleeping. I come home from work, put Judah down for a nap, try to eat something and lay down myself. When she wakes up, I do what I can to convince her to lay down with me in bed, watch a movie, read a book, play quietly, until that blessed moment when Joshua comes home from work and he can take care of me.

I feel useless, worthless for nothing except growing this fetus inside me. I’m beginning to blame Joshua (”This is all your fault.” “You did this to me.” “Damn your seed.”). That sort of thing.

So what I’m trying to say is, if I haven’t called you, if I haven’t e-mailed you back, if I haven’t hung out with you, if I’ve turned down plans, or haven’t blogged, it’s nothing against you. Don’t take it personally. I feel like hell. Give me a break. And if you’d like to bring dinner over one night, call me, cause that would be fine with me. I can’t open the fridge without holding my breath right now, and if I cook it, I usually can’t eat it. And sometimes I can’t eat it anyway.

Joshua and I keep joking about the signs that are telling us it’s our tim eto get outta Dallas. When we got married and moved here, we said, “if we’re still here when the High Five is finished, somebody kick us out.” Well the High Five is done now.

Anytime some big news story breaks about Dallas, we’re always, “that’s our sign to get outta Dallas. Here’s another. Dallas crime drops in all categories for the first time in a decade, even in the auto theft category. I guess they don’t count multiple auto thefts on the same car. I figured our car alone would have put that one over the edge.

Make a little love… get down tonight…

We did it. We booked the U-Haul for Joshua and Taylor to drive out to San Francisco, and we booked flights for Judah and me to fly out (so I don’t have to drive halfway across the country in my pregnant state - I can just throw up on the plane). The boys will leave March 2 to begin their journey across the southwestern United States and Judah and I will fly out March 4. That’s enough to make me feel like dancing.

Wow. It’s happening. (Do a little dance…)

And, our friends the Scandrettes are letting us rent part of their apartment under their house in the Mission District. We’ll have a housemate. His name is Dan. Hopefully, we can get to know Dan a bit before we move in with him. So we’ll have a place to live for a while once we get there. Right now the arrangement is for a few months until we figure out what we want to do. Maybe we’ll stay, maybe we’ll move. But at least we’ll have a place to live while we adapt, establish residency, and find a care provider for my pregnancy.

In the words of Dory in Finding Nemo, “I’m so excited!”

Morning Sickness. My ass.

It’s a good thing this phase doesn’t last forever and when I’m done I’ll have a teeny tiny baby to celebrate despite all the PUKING I’M ABOUT TO START DOING. Anyone mind if I keep track of how many times I throw up this go round? Anyone? Cause I think I’m gonna. It’ll give me something to do while I kneel in front of the porcelain god waiting for the convulsions to begin.

Okay, ONE. And a half. Well, two halves. They weren’t full-fledged.

Biggest fear about the throwing up? That Judah will see/hear me and will try to imitate what I’m doing. When she’s been sick before, we’ve managed to anticipate her throwing up and rush her to the bathroom in time to eject into the toilet. Makes clean-up much easier. Sometimes, when she coughs or when she’s about to go potty, she will lean over the toilet bowl and cough into the toilet, pretending she’s going to throw up.

She’s at that age where she mimics everything. It’s hard when it’s just her and me in the afternoons and I’m feeling the need. She has a bad habit of needing to know what I’m doing at all times, and I just know she’s going to come barging in the bathroom in all my all-day sickness glory. It would be great if the bathroom door closed all the way.