I don't have anything to blog about.

Nothing new here.

I'm hungry every 2 hours.  I'm eating healthier that I have in, well, maybe ever.  And the beer and cigarettes?  Don't even miss them.  Not even a little bit.

I miss the pot, though.  I've needed an attitude adjustment a few times and man, I wish I could just have a puff or two.  I've found articles and studies that show that babies born to pot-smoking moms score higher on cognitive, developmental, and emotional tests than babies born to non-smoking moms.  But only a few articles and one in-depth study.  Everything else says it will make my baby have 3 arms, ADD, and cancer...of course, their sources are generic "some studies", but it's still not worth the risk.  Smoke is bad for baby.  Period.  I'll have to find another method of stress release.  So far, crying in the shower is working so-so.  It'll get better.

Mostly, I'm bored.  I'm watching TV and internetting and bringing work home trying to keep myself occupied, but I'm still just so bored.  It's amazing how much more interesting things seem to be when I'm high; how much more focused I get on dumb shit, like Facebook and The Sims 3.  Now it all seems ridiculous and lame and dull and just plain boring.  This too shall pass.

Daddy called me tonight to check on me.  I love my Daddy.   It's only a matter of time before I pull the "Please stop smoking so your grandchild will know how awesome and wonderful you are" card.  He'd stopped for months, but has apparently picked the habit back up again in the last few weeks.  I'm terrified he's going to die of lung cancer or emphysema, after a long, lingering illness that destroys my Momma, too.  But tonight, I was just happy to hear from him, and I was tickled that he was calling to check up on me.  It warmed my heart.

Jimi continues to compete for the BabyDaddy of the Year title.  He's attentive and understanding and warm and loving and sweet and doting and adorable.  He greets me each morning with, "Good morning, baby.  Good morning, little baby."  When I lost my shit last night and had a meltdown because I couldn't find my sandal so we could take Finn for a walk, he wisely backed out of the room, helped look for the offending shoe, and then just stayed out of my way until I calmed the fuck down.  Then we went for a walk like it had never happened.  He gets me.  He understands I'm crazy right now.  He loves me anyhow.  I think I chose wisely.  (I sure hope so...we're a little stuck with each other now.)

I think we conceived on/around 8/11/10 (the night I got the huge rug burn on my big toe that I almost told you about here.).  That makes our due date somewhere around 5/4/11.  I'm glad I won't be all big and fat and hugely pregnant next summer.  And I can wear super cute spring dresses in styles I never would've worn before because I won't have to worry about trying to hide my belly - by then, I'll be all belly, and I'll want to show it off everywhere I go.  AND, I can totally wear elastic waistbands all holiday season and no one will say shit to me when I eat until I'm about to bust.  PERFECT timing.

See?  Nothing new here.  Until next time...