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Sat on a fence but it didn’t work

I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.  And not even pressure from an outside source, just pressure from within.  I’ve been kind of a freaked-out blob lately.  It’s not pretty.

Except that’s not entirely true.  “Freaked-out blob” implies that I’ve spent the last two weeks eating ice cream in the same pair of dirty sweat pants day after day.  While that is certainly how I’ve been wanting to spend my time, instead I’ve actually been relatively productive.  I started running again.  High-five!  My plan is to fit into my pants again by Memorial Day.*  I also worked a lot this week.  A lot.  More than I’ve worked in a while.  And?  I went out with friends, saw a movie and had drinks afterward.  Right there is more activity than I have participated in since the end of January.  I should be exhausted, and I am, but I didn’t end there, you guys.  I also had two snow days in the last week, took tons of photos, kept my apartment clean, washed three loads of laundry, balanced my checkbook, updated my monthly budget sheet and ran errands.

And while that’s great and everything, did I really accomplish anything?  You know what I didn’t do?  My taxes.  Also?  I’m just barely keeping in step with assignments from work, getting them done in the nick of time, that is unacceptable I should be weeks ahead on all of my assignments.  Also?  I haven’t trimmed my toenails in two weeks, I haven’t checked my Facebook page since February and I went four days without shaving my legs.  FAIL.

Is this normal?  I mean, I assume that everyone feels the way that I feel, that I’m not the only person who expects to get it all done perfectly all of the time.

It’s a lot of pressure.

So that’s where I’ve been.  I’ve been trying, managing, ticking things off one at a time and breathing deeply, namaste.  In case you didn’t notice, one of things on my to-do list that didn’t get done was –

Hi! I’m posting! And did you like the photos?  It’s Friday!  I posted!  And I have news!

There is a project in the works, a project that came about thanks to writing that’s happened on this site, a career-type job-ish, and it’s really exciting and totally terrifying.  I’ll tell you all about it next week, when it launches, god willing.  Until then, here’s to a weekend that will hopefully have at least one morning where I can sleep in past six.

*Between the end of November, when our CSA ended, and the end of January, I gained enough weight that even my bras stopped fitting. What. The. Expletive.

Kind of a big deal, Part 2

Click here for part 1

Considering that I was in New York and my eleven pregnant friends and family members were splashed across the United States, I was forced to live vicariously through Facebook, Flickr, personal blogs, whatever I could get my hands on.  I coveted their swollen bellies, bouts of nausea, silvery stretch marks.  I felt guilty as I tracked their progress and studied their photos.  I wasn’t allowed to want a baby because my life was too messy, so I watched them want theirs.  It was my dirty little secret.

It wasn’t very long before what I could find on the various network sites wasn’t enough.  I wanted more.  I needed it.  I couldn’t think about anything else.  I couldn’t sleep.  I started reading Mommy Blogs.  I watched birthing videos on YouTube.  I mentally shopped for baby bottles and strollers and slings.  I started buying clothes that were loose fitting in the midsection because they were things I’d be able to wear when I got pregnant.  I came this close to subscribing to the website where you get a weekly email that tells you what size and shape your fetus is that week, whether it can hear or has eyeballs yet, but then at the last minute I decided that was a little too creepy, even for me.

At the end of nights spent devouring pregnancy websites I deleted the history on my computer.  I kept my baby-mania a secret.  I became depressed and moody.  I started fights.  I didn’t want to listen to Michael’s concerns about children and so I couldn’t talk about mine.  I became resentful and angry.  Michael sensed something was wrong but what could he do when I refused to admit it?  His hands were tied.  We stopped talking about anything beyond the laundry list, “How was your day?” “Fine, how was yours?” “Fine.”  Before I knew it we were actively avoiding one another, an incredible feat considering our apartment was so small we couldn’t shut the bathroom door while pooping.

To be continued….