Freak of the Week

One of the hidden costs of pregnancy, as it turns out, is the added toilet paper usage, which, if you’re toilet paper snobs like us (Cottonelle with Aloe & E), is not insignificant. I’m certainly not eating it or anything, but with the added trips to the bathroom to pee, there is a serious uptick in TP consumption that is no doubt impacting the bottom (HA!) line. Adam, who never notices anything, noticed we seem to be whipping through toilet paper at an alarming rate and it’s ALL MY FAULT.

Seriously, NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO PEE THIS MUCH. No one. Yes, I drink a lot of water, but it’s almost like I’m made of one long tube where it goes in one end, winds around unimpeded for a few moments, until making its grand exit on the other side. Third trimester peeing totally trumps first trimester peeing, is what I’m saying.

Which reminds me: OMFG I’m in the third trimester. Jenny had her baby already, and Leah is on her way and by the time you read this, may already HAVE HIM HERE. (Congratulations so far to Jenny for little Clark Herbert!) These are women I saw as my pregnant brethren, and for some reason, I kept thinking we’d all be pregnant FOREVER, together in swollen solidarity. It seems that is not the case, and babies do arrive at some time or another. Huh.

Another exciting side effect of the third trimester: the near-constant low-grade nausea is back, but without any of the coping mechanisms I had before (eat protein at every meal, keep stomach full, etc.). No, no. See also: inability to eat junk food. I couldn’t even finish a COOKIE the other night. A COOKIE. I can, however, enjoy Pillsbury Toaster Strudels without incident, which are very nearly junk food-like and just as addictive. And also DELICIOUS. DELICIOUS.

In other news, the holiday party season is upon us, and I attended my first on Saturday night (Hi R! And other attendees and friends!) wherein I discovered that I am much more allergic to cats than previously realized. Near the end of the evening, I noticed my eyes and nose becoming a little irritated, which is not unusual after a few hours with certain cats, however, it quickly became clear that things were worse than expected, so I had to leave ENTIRELY ABRUPTLY. It’s a good thing, too, because by the time I got home (an approximately four second walk), my eyes were almost swollen shut to the point of needing an ice pack. It appears that I will not be getting another cat anytime soon. Or, you know, ever. (Ours had to be rehomed last year, and while it was very sad, it was better for him, as he can’t be around a) other pets; or b) CHILDREN OH MY GOD NO CHILDREN OR HE WILL EAT THEM.)

Would you like me to come to YOUR holiday party and blow up like Sherman Klump? I’m booked next Saturday at a catless party, but other arrangements can be made if needed.

Incidentally, this coming weekend’s holiday party outfit requires maternity tights, which can only be purchased in-person more than an hour and a half away. And because I am the master of poor planning, I likely won’t make it out there this week to pick some up, so ah, does anyone know if I have any other options? Like, can I just buy some L’Eggs or No Nonsense or whatever brand my local drugstore has in their biggest size (Queen? Plus-size? LARGE? Do they even MAKE tights? Because I’m not wearing pantyhose or, as some of you call them, nylons. No can do. Nothing SHEER is going on these tree trunks, my friends) and be done with it, or is that a laughable option? I’ve gained some weight in my bum/thigh region, but I don’t know if it’s enough to push me into gigundo hosiery territory the way my belly has (I believe we have moved into the “Seriously, what is that thing?” territory there.) Oy. I’m sensing a lot of hiking up in my Saturday evening future.

I also meant to add that among the myriad of strange men I find attractive (my husband is quite conventionally handsome and not at all weird-looking, for the record), Philip Seymour Hoffman tops the list, and he might be the strangest of all. He’s SLOVENLY! And a little dumpy! And unkempt! And … and kind of GROSS. And yet: so attractive. So smart. So weirdly attractive, even while playing Truman Capote and I know how vomitously weird that sounds, but I’m sorry, it’s the truth. I almost licked the screen the other night when he was on the Daily Show.

Update: Some of you pointed me to Emily and her solution of thigh highs, which is so funny, because I KNEW I’d seen L’eggs referenced somewhere recently, but my brain is no longer functioning. And … do they make thigh high TIGHTS? Because see: no no to the sheer. No no. Also, if this doesn’t point out that as pregnant women, we are all pretty much the same with the same annoying problems, I don’t know what does. Also, I’ve worn thigh highs and man, that rubber stuff seems like it would make me want to scratch my legs off in itchy rebellion. I believe the last time I attempted it was my senior prom, and they had SEAMS down the back of them for some really ill-advised retro effect.

Hey, happy Monday!

*The Chemical Brothers

26 comments December 14th, 2008