(I’m just bitching. You probably shouldn’t read this.)

I guess I feel better today, I’m not sure. I’ve felt bad so consistently for the past while that I probably don’t feel better and I just can’t tell.

Right now I’m starving again. I also feel fat – I’ve probably gained ten pounds and five of its boobs I don’t want (and which make me feel matronly). So feel starving but I look like I’m three inches short of being perfectly round. (Yes, I’m exagerating. But only the slightest bit.)

My husband continues to be a saint. He asks frequently how I’m doing, offers to pet and cuddle me, shoots compassionate glances my way, and tries to make me giggle. I don’t feel that I’m at all worthy of him. I also feel sad that he’s not getting anything back from me; it’s all I can do to sit and scratch his back for a few minutes, and he’s still sleeping on the futon to give me space. I’ve cooked for him maybe three times in the past month. He’s got clean clothes, but that’s about it. I doubt he cares about chores all that much; what I’m trying to say is that I feel sad that he has to hang out with a morose and confused wife every evening.

My midwife assigned me all kinds of suppliments to take, and I was going to pick them up after buying food. But after bleeding in the grocery store the night before last, I never went to get them. I’m staying hydrated, trying to get enough sleep (and failing), taking prenatals and extra vitamin C, and using topical progesterone cream occasionally. I don’t think I’m going to bother with the vitamin E and false unicorn root tincture and other stuff she recommended. Maybe if I’d started it when she told me to it would be different, but it’s not.

What I hate right now is the fear. Fear that it’ll hurt (which is an absurd fear, because of course it will hurt, but not too bad to bear). Fear that I’m wrong and the embryo is fine and I’m horribly mentally deficient and cursing my own pregnancy with my bad attitude. Fear that the embryo is not fine, but will survive anyway and I’ll spend the rest of my life with a hopelessly dependent offspring.

Simultaneously, I use about 25% of my mental capacity to think about how I’m actually doing just fine. That portion of brain is thinking, “This isn’t as bad as you’re making it, o bad mooded one. It’s crazy hormones. You could be having a perfectly fine pregnancy. Wait for another few weeks and go in for your checkup and it will all be fine, super freak.”

Bah! I am so full of shit. This sucks. I’m not dying, I’m not in some slimy prison in South America, and I’m certainly not starving to death, but this Does Legitimately Suck no matter what the Spock part of my brain tries to tell me!

I’ve been fortunate to have no pain (so far), but the facts is the facts. I was really pregnant, with horrible nausea, a feeling of fullness, and painful boobs from hell… but now I’ve been staining, spotting, and bleeding for two weeks and my boobs have all but quit hurting and I barely even feel queasy. Hello, brain, this is not looking good!

The problem with this whole trip is its damned intimacy: I am always aware of it. Always. Every waking moment. It’s inescapable. I have experienced varying degrees of uncomfortable, sick, or scared every single moment for a month and a half. It’s wearing me down! I’m tired of it. I’ve run out of optimism.
Oh, and I’m getting cramps.

What I really want is to get drunk and pass out, to be honest. My vasnas (1) are so deeply rooted; as much as I try to deny it I really do use chemicals to manage my moods sometimes. I desperately want to smoke cigarettes, eat fried cheese, and get drunk to escape even briefly this relentlessly wearing waiting.

I’ve cut myself a little slack, and have been enjoying a single latte (2) each day – I’m not having actual cups of coffee (even though all the lit says pregnant women can drink up to three cups a day) (!!!?) but a latte doesn’t have much caffeine and it sure hits the spot. The ritual of making one almost makes me feel like I’m still a person.

Anyway, enough bitching. I need to go do DNS for a site I just set up and send off the welcome email to the customer. Then I’m getting takeout from Mohan Delight ’cause I need the comfort food.

(You read this! Weird. Have a nice day.)