High and Dry

Oy.  So, when last I left you, I was a reasonably healthy (if not so much mentally) person, yes?  I believe shortly thereafter, it all went Horribly Awry, with my fourth, count it, FOURTH head cold-slash-sinus infection this pregnancy, resulting in the Return of the Neverending Barfles and … well, nevermind.  I feel much better now, and thank God.

During this Sick Time of Woe, Adam and I opted to separate for sleeping, because there is pregnancy snoring– which is horrendous and loud and rivals a freight train — and then there is sick pregnancy snoring, which is not unlike TWENTY freight trains and six air horns.  And between me snoring and waking up Adam, and him poking me to roll over, no one was sleeping more than six seconds at a time and, as everyone likes to remind us, the time for sleeping is now, or forever hold your peace.  And I hated it, as I got painfully lonely and strangely sad.  I’d rather not get any sleep than be sad.

Onward! It turns out that Honda was perfectly content to give Adam and me a car loan, and that we’re picking up our new! shiny! Silver! Honda! CR-V! tomorrow.  Which is amusing, since we’re trading in our old! broken! silver! Honda! CR-V! at the same time.  Essentially, we’re driving out with the same car, only it will be a newer model that doesn’t sound like it’s about to croak (likely because it is) and ultimately, it will be cheaper (yes, cheaper) than the one we’re turning in, thanks to the bizarre world of auto economics resulting from a woefully underperforming global economy.

I have to tell you — and everyone who follows me on Twitter who will listen — that I am BESIDE myself with amusement over the downfall of Blagojevich.  He’s a victim of a plot to raise taxes! He’s oppressed! He’s just like Gandhi! He even considered nominating OPRAH to the senate, as she can really TOUCH PEOPLE!  My friend Anna rightfully, I think, assumes he’s busy building an insanity defense, because honestly, why ELSE would anyone opt to upstage their own impeachment with a media tour of epic proportions? It’s … it’s SO FUNNY. And awful. And, well, you know. Sad. And strangely hairy.

And finally, because I’m trying in vain to go to sleep in my own bed tonight so as not to wake up lonely and mournful for someone angrily poking me in the ribs, I’ll leave you with three things that are thrilling and alternately killing me:

– My baby shower is this weekend in the Boston area, and while I am incredibly excited to see my family and friends, I am wracked with guilt that I’m even HAVING a baby shower. I wish there was a way to have a baby shower/party without feeling like you were forcing people to, uh,  shower you, you know?

Two sub-bits of anxiety from this event are: 1)  I made the grave error of using my baby registry as a shopping list for myself as well. Ergo, the breast pads and nipple butter, which I can’t imagine anyone picking up without snickering and/or feeling mortified, and that sort of includes myself. And 2) This is the last major milestone before I actually HAVE THE BABY and I’m feeling very sad, nostalgic, hormonal and totally freaked out. Hence, any attendees of this weekend’s event who might be reading this should be adequately prepared for extensive waterworks when I see your face.

– We have reached the freakout stage that is oh-so-familiar to me before major life events and/or things I’m excited about that I’m about to experience for the first time. The first time Adam and I went on vacation together, for example, I became convinced we weren’t going to live long enough to see it, even going so far as to watch with terror as we landed in the Caribbean, certain we were bound for the coral reefs. Before our wedding, I woke up almost every night in a cold sweat, sure that something awful was going to happen and we were, as usual, going to die before the wedding.  As a result of my panic and second-hand stress, I think we both ended up hospitalized and/or visiting the doctor more than once.

Now, six weeks before my baby is due, I’ve stayed up late three nights in a row Googling obscure medical conditions related to some vague symptoms Adam and I have been having, most notably — please wait for it — DRY SKIN. As a result, I became CERTAIN that while I might survive, as my symptoms were less severe (BECAUSE I MOISTURIZE), I’m afraid Adam needs an organ transplant, and my baby won’t get to meet her daddy, because he’s going to be in the hospital getting a new liver while she’s being born.

This kind of fatalist thinking is also special with babies, because there are tasks like wills to update and life insurance to add and beneficiaries to change and then mull sadly over after you’ve completed them. It’s all very morbid when you think about it, the steps you take before adding a new life. There’s a bit of irony there, and not the good kind.

– Lastly, and perhaps most frivolously, why didn’t anyone tell me that Jet Dry would solve all the problems I’ve been having with my dishwasher? How did I not KNOW this would be the panacea for cloudy glasses and schmutzy bowls? And further, how did our parents SURVIVE without this? Or has it always been there?

Happy Tuesday!

*Radiohead

24 comments January 26th, 2009