I did something today that I haven’t done in nearly twelve years. I locked my keys in the car. I also locked my wallet and lunch in it too, meaning no food and no trip to the snack machine during the two hours I spent waiting for the auto club. (Yes, that’s right, I chose to do this on a day when Chip was out of town.) In ravenous pregnant-woman terms, two hours without food is the equivalent of two days for members of the non-pregnant population.
When the auto club rep finally arrived, I didn’t know whether to kiss him out of gratitude or harangue him for taking so long. I did try to ignore Penelope’s watchful eyes as I returned to my desk and, with trembling hands, drew slices of bell pepper from my recently recovered lunch bag.
Getting ready for work each morning is exhausting now. I can’t even stand up for the ten minutes it takes to put on my makeup. By the time I’ve eaten, showered, ironed, eaten, dressed, and eaten, I’m ready to go back to bed. How will I ever make it through the next eight or so months?
At night, I fall asleep on the couch between ten and ten-thirty despite my efforts to remain awake and keep Chip company. After all, these next few months will be our last opportunity to enjoy we-time for the next two decades.
Not that I’m complaining. I’m so glad this baby is on the way.
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Let's see, what could we do to throw Penelope off the trail? How about you have a tapeworm and early onset Alzheimer's? Or maybe lead poisoning and a new, strenuous exercise regimen? Like marathon training-strenuous. Actually, that could run alone ( no pun intended): training makes you tired; tired makes you forgetfull. Still, it'd be fun to watch Pen foam at the mouth over some random, rare, or madeup illness.
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