Sleep Good, Food Bad.....

Food sucks. Or rather, my tolerance for food sucks. Nothing sounds good, and that fact doesn’t jive well with the fact that I’m hungry roughly every two hours. So hungry that I can barely get off the couch to decide what to eat because I might pass out because I’m so lightheaded from being SO HUNGRY, and yet, nothing sounds good. NOTHING. It’s insanely frustrating.

On Sundays we have breakfast with my family at my sister‘s house. My dad makes pancakes (with some help from Halle) and we all have a grand ‘ole time. At least, we all used to. Now everyone else has a grand ‘ole time while I concentrate on something other than bacon. And pancakes. And…ew. I had some fruit this past Sunday, which tasted good. It never will again, but in that moment it worked. As we were leaving my sister’s house I decided I wanted McNuggets -- the very thought of which right now might make me hurl, but at that moment sounded heavenly. Brian’s response to that was to pull a bag of peanut M&Ms out of his pocket (I know, weird) and say, “Do you want nuggets, or do you want peanut M&Ms?”

I want nuggets.

So off to McDonald’s we went. I had my four nuggets. They were fabulous. I was full. I felt better. We got home and Brian headed downstairs to fix the computer, leaving his unopened peanut M&Ms on the kitchen table. So after an hour or so I had a few -- maybe six. He came upstairs later and noticed they were open, and just looked at me and made some sort of guttural, displeased sound. I looked back, and he said, “I thought you didn’t want M&Ms.”

DUUUUUUUDDDDDDDE.

A) I’m likely to start crying at any second, so while I realize that wasn’t meant to be an insult, it sounded like one. No, I don’t know why. Stop asking me why. I DON’T KNOW.

B) I don’t know what the fuck I want RIGHT NOW, much less what I’m going to want a few hours from now, so LEARN TO ADJUST. I have to. It’s a lot less fun from my end, believe me.

C) I actually do need to eat, even if it’s just nuggets or M&Ms. I’m growing ears and arms and gonads over here.

**Side note: My boss decided to talk to me extensively about gonads today at work. It was disturbing. And scary. And I think I cried a little afterward.**

In his defense, he’s real touchy about the peanut M&Ms. Specifically, he’s touchy about my touching his peanut M&Ms. Something about me eating all of them and having no self-control and he only gets, like, two, and blah, blah, blah. This is all pre-pregnancy stuff. Now I can’t eat large quantities of anything, no matter how peanuty and chocolaty and tasty that anything might be. So he has less to worry about now, but he still has the same reaction. It's akin to hearing a car backfire after you come home from war, I suspect, only on an (obviously) smaller scale.

This hungry/sick cycle continued all night. It sucked. It’s getting worse. Hellloooooo, Second Trimester, where art thou? At least then when I’m hungry I’ll hopefully be able to eat whatever the hell I want. My ass will be huge, but….my ass is already huge, and I’d rather do squats that do more of what’s going on right now.

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Sleep is my new favorite thing. If you know me, you know I don’t sleep. No one has figured out why, but I just don’t. I toss. I turn. I swear. I don’t sleep.

Bring on pregnancy, though, ‘cause I sleep like a coma patient. It’s awesome. The only problem with it is that I want to do it all the time, and by 9 p.m. I’m asleep, and I don’t care what else is going on. Tornado? Too bad. Car running into the house? I don’t really care. I’m out.

This has become a bit of an issue. Brian hasn’t said a word about it, really, but he also hasn’t adjusted to this any more than he’s adjusted to the food thing -- TO CLARIFY, I’m not complaining about his not adjusting. How could he when it’s not his body? It’s just something we’re having to deal with -- so he’s still making plans for the weekends and evenings as if I’m running on full energy (which, honestly, was not that much even when I wasn’t pregnant).

My husband is somewhat of a social butterfly. He likes to go, go, go. He thrives on human interaction. I ….. don’t. I like to be at home. I like to watch tv. I like to SIT STILL. He’s worried that I’m going to develop agoraphobia. It’s not that, it’s just that I’m always tired, even when I’m not making people.

So anyway, he’s making plans, and that’s fine for the most part. I don’t mind doing a few things here and there, maybe one night out on the weekend or something. But what he wants to do is go out Friday night, then be all active on Saturday all day, then go out Saturday night, then breakfast Sunday. I’m not talking about going to bars and getting trashed or anything, but just have dinner, see people, go to their houses.

I finally pulled him aside on our way out the door on Saturday and said, “We’re just going out for dinner, we’re not going anywhere afterward.”

*Weird look, because I sounded like a bitch. Because I was annoyed. For no reason.*

Me: “Look, if you EVER want to have sex again, you’re going to have to cut back the social engagements, because I’m asleep by 9, and that’s it. I’m not going to try to struggle to stay awake anymore. It sucks.”

*Another weird, slightly offended look, which wasn’t what I was going for.”

Brian: “Um, Okay.”

Honestly, I’m not trying to be a bitch, but I just can’t do it all anymore. I’m exhausted. My body is so tired by the end of a work day -- and not even a work day where I do stuff, just one where I had to GET UP AND SHOWER AND DRIVE TO WORK -- that I can barely function when I get home. And I’m irrationally and unfairly annoyed that he didn’t just know this and that I had to say it OUT LOUD. Jesus Christ. Will the injustices never cease? *please note the sarcasm*

He’s not doing anything wrong, and I know that. I love him so much and I never want to make him feel like he’s making this difficult on me. Just the opposite. He’s been wonderful, and I’m sure he’ll continue to be wonderful. This is all just weird me stuff. I feel like everything is changing and that somehow it’s all my fault. That I should be able to will myself to stay up past 9 and just eat what’s in the house to save money, but I can’t. I wish I could. In fact, I wish I could just sit down and EAT A PIECE OF PIZZA WITHOUT GAGGING. IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK?

Oh, by the way, I can no longer eat pizza. Which really pisses me off. I love(d) pizza.

On a slightly unrelated note, my poor, put-upon husband who has to deal with his crazy pregnant wife also had to go to the dentist today. He hates the dentist, and not just in a normal-people-all-hate-the-dentist-because-they’re-sadistic-freaks-of-nautre kind of way. He REALLY hates the dentist. He has to go back tomorrow, too, for, like, four hours. I feel so bad for him. I wish I could go with him and hold his hand. I don’t really know if that would help him, though. I wish they could maybe knock him out to do all this stuff, that way he’d just wake up woozy and a little disoriented and it’d all be done. They won’t, though. I’m pretty sure we both asked.

I also wish I could say that when I get home tonight I’m going to cook him a nice dinner and rub his back to make him feel better. But I’ll probably just pass out instead. I mean, I’ll try to do those nice things, but I make no guarantees. I'm no longer in charge over here.

P.S. If you haven't already, please read Amalah Queen of Everything. Her blog is Here. Go back to her posts about being pregnant and you will laugh so hard you'll cry. I literally did. She's seriously the funniest bitch on the planet. I don't know her personally, but I want to. I want her to be my best friend so we can sit and braid each other's hair and say mean things about Republicans. She rocks. READ IT.