The Baby May Be Eating My Brain

I have a confession to make.

In the past few days, my attention span has shrunk to the size of a pea. Except when it comes to food…I can obsess about food until I am in tears and begging my husband to please, dear God please, go get me a Kicking Coney from Sonic.

When it comes to everything else however, I find it difficult to concentrate on any given topic for longer than two minutes. At work, I alternate between wanting to sleep on my desk, scouring the internet for nursery ideas and reminding myself that two extra large Oatmeal Cream Pies is enough for one day.

Damn you Little Debbie, and your crack-laced snack cakes.

At home, I look apathetically toward my sentient laundry pile with the faint hope that I’ll feel like tackling it soon. I may cook, but usually forget something important. Who needs vegetables anyway? I tune out whoever is speaking to me after ten words or less, because I’m prone to easy distraction. I don’t mean to, but my poor kids have carried on quite a few one-sided conversations with me this week because my brain acts like easily runs out of gas.

I hope this complete mental degradation ends soon, because my stint as an amnesiac zombie is getting old.

For These Small Things, I Am Grateful

Bean has appendages! And a new due date. The new, really official due date is April 6th, and by all that is holy, I am grateful. I now feel marginally less embarrassed about my epic morning battles to squeeze into my pants. The sooner I hit 12 weeks, the sooner that I can procure some maternity pants without looking quite as pathetic. Yes, I am shallow enough to admit that I would rather suffer in my torture pants for the next two weeks than be the girl who needed preggo pants before she even hit the second trimester. It’s a mental thing.

Bean!

Little Bean has a heartbeat!

And a new due date. Doctor says it’s looking like April 13th. Though I have no preference on the date per se, I am seriously bummed that it got pushed back a week. Somehow, already too-tight pants at 8 weeks seemed mysteriously less shameful than too-tight pants at barely 7 weeks. I may have to break down and buy something bigger soon, because I feel like I am cutting off circulation to the lower part of my body. I’ll have to figure out something before Sunday, because no way am I flying across the country in uncomfortable pants.

So far, early pregnancy has been smooth sailing, other than the fact that I am a narcoleptic grandma with a persistent hankering for a Volcano roll, a beef Mexi-melt with extra mild sauce and a bucket of frozen yogurt. All I want to do is sleep, eat, then sleep some more. Seriously, I fell asleep by 8:00 last night, and still felt exhausted when I woke up this morning. This is not the best scenario for a working mom who hasn’t exactly spilled the beans of her impending surprise to her coworkers. I am pretty sure people think I’m just getting chubby and lazy. Not to mention, I have two demanding heathens who need things like food, bedtimes and help with their homework.

I guess I should have figured that pregnancy in my 30’s was not going to be just like pregnancy in my 20’s.