Defcon Level Food Whore

I had been trying to deny it for some time.

I hadn't looked my situation on, straight in the face.

Unless said face had mashed potatoes dripping from its chin. Or maybe some milkshake. OR BOTH.

For years, as many of you already know, I've struggled with horrific nausea. I can't eat wheat without rotten consequences and Guinness-book world record level bloating. Dairy sometimes hits the "undo" button immediately after ingestion. Sometimes it sits okay, I just don't feel great. Food is a struggle. Sometimes I would eat far too much for too long, other times I was eating far too little for too long.

The first three months of pregnancy were horrific for me. Between the fatigue (couldn't do a half set of stairs without crying, usually) and the extreme nausea, I was a weak and thin shell. A weak shell with a mad carbohydrate craving. If I did eat, I had one insane, unavoidable craving and I had to give in to it or else I was the most miserable bitch ever. And I could only seem to eat after 7pm.

Then - the second trimester started. It was rough at first, and it still has many-a-challenge... but one MAJOR shift has taken place.

ALL I THINK ABOUT IS FOOD NOW. ALL.THE.TIME.

Classy shit like this should only comfort others and reinforce that Imma be a great mom! HA!

When I am out of the house, in the car, I am inventory-ing every single goddamn fast food place I pass, envisioning a food (or foods) that would really hit the spot. I will tune out conversation. I will not hear the dialogue on the radio. I will briefly consider the lack of nutritional value, then give myself a free pass because, you know, BABY.

I'm bringing the hubs down with me. He has no excuse for his newly-acquired horrific eating habits, except for the obvious Not-Wanting-To-Deal-With-A-Whiny-Hungry-Determined-Pregnant-Wife. He's a trooper.

But I am dragging him down this Skittles-streaked ditch with me. We're leaving trails of melted ice cream and Orange Julius fruit smoothies on our heels.

If I agree to go out somewhere, I am already mapping out what food places we pass, what I can get on the way home, and then I fixate on it like nobody's business. I recently went to Maui (more on that later) and the size of my carry-on shoulder bag was impressive. It was comprised of approximately 90% food products and 10% reading materials. I even planned for the return flight.

I am not myself. I am achy, tired, creeped out, sluggish, inactive and overwhelmed. But I won't be swayed, oh no.

Even the most severe constipation can't slow me down. Well, okay, yes it can. And actually literally DOES. But I will continue to stuff food into my stomach even when my brain is screaming "STOP, You CRAZY Bitch!"

I can now admit it: I am an utter food whore.

I'd type more, but this cherry applesauce is staring me down. Hey, at least it has carrot in it. 
I think.

I plan to inhale it after I finish my vanilla milkshake. Though, actually, I just realized that my sweet potato fries are getting cold... and where the hell did I put the ketchup??

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Random Adorableness

I was reading Hollywood Gossip the other day, and I actually may have squealed.

Very loudly.

Very, very loudly.

"Oh. HAI."   (Image Via The Hollywood Gossip)

This thing is called a Quokka according to the article, and it looks totally Photoshopped.

It was just so damn cute, I had to share it. It actually looks like it is smiling.

The cute little buggers are considered "vulnerable" and are usually eaten by bigger predators.

:(



All together now:

One part eager friendliness, one part Jack Nicholson a la "The Shining".  (Image Via The Hollywood Gossip)

Aaaaaaaaaw.

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Lost: My Touch

So I've been thinking about what the hell to write about on here for the past few weeks.


I remember back in the day, being selfishly disappointed when a favourite blogger announced they were knocked up and were either:
A) Starting a new, separate mommy blog;
B) Starting a new, separate mommy blog while poorly and sporadically updating their wonderful/funny/expletive-laden current blog;
C) Quitting blogging altogether to harness their energy into raising their soon-to-be snot-nosed little baby.

I initially vowed I would do none of those things.

But you know what? I can't think of a DAMN thing outside of my current pregnancy misery and joy. I didn't want to turn mommy blog. My perverse sense of humour, my horrific language, and my general disdain for most things on earth don't seem to mesh well with a blog about growing life inside of me.

The reality is that I will be the same person no matter what, but at the same time, I can't honestly think of other amusing things to write about.

I have lost most regular readers and commenters. Most of my blog traffic is misplaced searchers, leaving us both sorely disappointed when they search terms like "sexy socks".

I have, quite possibly, lost my touch.

When I leave the house, it's either for house move related things, or else baby things. Doctor's appointments. Prescription refills.


There is a fear that I shouldn't get too invested in relationships here because I will only become a housebound, hermit zombie after this babe is unearthed from my nether regions.

I haven't joined prenatal classes because I have a horrific hernia, I'm a wuss, I'm weak, and the amount of body pains I am experiencing because of the bloody "miracle of birth" is astounding. No one, and I mean NO ONE, even hinted that it could be this hard physically. And I'm only half way there.

So... yeah. A part of me wants to tell other stories. Tell more things about life outside of this. But it just feels like there isn't much to say.

I used to be funny. I think. At least a little. Then the husband stopped laughing when he read my posts. And many readers left. And life carried on.

So... I think I've lost my touch.

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