I'm a bitch.

It's not easy to write about being a bitch.  I want to have this thing as a place I can record all my crazy, even the sort that puts me in a not-so-good light, but it's not easy to write things that I know make me ugly.

Our good friend and former roommate called with news Friday night.  She's 28 weeks pregnant.  Allow me to take this moment to remind you that she just found out she's pregnant like 2 weeks ago; we'd thought she was maybe 20 weeks.  PANIC.  7 months without prenatal care, 7 months without vitamins, 7 months without watching her diet, 7 months without abstaining from all those poisons we put in our bodies - be it alcohol or Ibuprofen.

But her baby, thank goodness, is healthy and right on track to make an appearance in late February.  And it's a Girl!

And I am jealous as hell, and I can't make it stop.

I'm happy for her, please don't misunderstand that.  I'm scared for her and excited for her and hopeful for her.

But I want what she has and it makes my heart hurt if I think about it too much.

I keep telling myself that it will come to us, all in good time.  I remind myself that I don't want to experience a third trimester in the humid, sweltering, Ohio Valley summer (which is what would happen if I got pregnant now).  I say, "Well, I want to be able to canoe in May, and I can't do that if I'm pregnant."  I list all my blessings (see: previous entry re: my ridiculous jealousy), I remind myself that I already have so much, I remember that I don't need anything more in my life to be happy.

Oh, but I want, I want, I want.

I've got to get over this.  I've got to stop coveting things that aren't mine.  I've got to stop feeling as though I've been cheated by the Universe.  I've got to accept that life goes on, and that the pregnancies of others are not a direct attack on me or the Universe's way of punishing me; they have nothing to do with me.  Successful, happy pregnancies are the way it's supposed to be, and one day it will be my turn too.

I think the biggest contributing factor to my insanity is the fear that something will be wrong; I'll have scarred tubes or Jimi's sperm count will be low or my womb will turn out to be an inhospitable wasteland.  If I could just have some reassurance that yes, one day it WILL be our turn, then maybe I'd not freak out so much and turn quite so green every time someone announces a pregnancy or birth or first birthday party.  It's the fear that that one pregnancy was a one-time fluke that never should've happened; that we'll fall into the world of infertility...and, well, that scares the shit out of me.

I hate the way I sound.  I hate complaining and whining and bitching.  I had one miscarriage, after an unplanned, unexpected pregnancy, and now it feels like my desire to have a baby is consuming me.  I can't write this without feeling like an asshole; I read blogs every day written by women who have lived my worse fears - learning they'll never carry a pregnancy to term, or having miscarriage after miscarriage, or trying for months and months and months with no results and no financial means to seek medical advice.  I know this shouldn't invalidate my feelings or my concerns, but it certainly makes me feel a little melodramatic.

But I can't help the way I feel.  And until I get pregnant again, until I hear that baby's heartbeat, until I see its image on the ultrasound screen, until I give birth to a perfect little blend of me and Jimi, I'm probably going to keep feeling this way every time someone announces a pregnancy, a birth, a first birthday.  But I promise, I'm trying to get better at hiding it.  I'm trying so hard.

I'm a green-eyed jealous monster.

Back in August, a friend of ours needed a place to stay for a while and so we moved her into our upstairs - a comfortable space with two bedrooms, lots of closets, and a half bath.  A couple of weeks later, I found out I was pregnant.  A week after that, I miscarried.  Our friend lived with us into early October, then her parents drove up from their Southern home and scooped her up to go be with her family while she figured out what her next steps in the world were going to be. 

She called last night to tell us she's pregnant.  That apparently, she got pregnant about the same time I did, or very shortly thereafter.  She was pregnant when she was in our home.  Must've been something in the water that month.

I won't lie, my first reaction to her news was pure, unadulterated jealousy and envy.  I smiled for her and told her congratulations, but my body tensed up and I felt on the verge of tears.  I had thoughts I'm too ashamed to write here; I listed all the reasons in my mind why I was more deserving of my child than she was of hers.  I'm a horrible, awful, terrible person. 

I passed the phone to Jimi, bundled up in two jackets, and went out on the front porch to have a smoke and try to stop thinking such bitchy things.  I did breathing exercises, focusing on each muscle group in my body and willing them to relax - I felt like I was bound from the inside.

I listed all my blessings; a man who loves me unconditionally and without end, a home that is warm and safe and filled with all of my favorite things, a job that pays me a living wage and provides me with insurance so I can receive top-notch medical care whenever I need it, a network of family and friends who guarantee I'll never spend a night on the streets or a day without a meal, a reliable vehicle that will carry me as far as I want to go; and then shame washed over me in waves.  I was ashamed that I would think anything other than happy thoughts for my friend, and for the new life she's growing inside of her.  I have so much already; how could I even for a moment feel as though I was more entitled than someone else, as if I were somehow more deserving?  Disgraceful.

Our friend will be a wonderful mother.  She's intelligent and beautiful and patient and kind and generous and loving and warm and she knows how to dream big and follow her dreams.  She has a loving and supportive family who will help her through the struggles and challenges that motherhood will bring.  Becoming a single mother in these times of economic hardships certainly wasn't something she planned for herself, but she will make the right choices for herself and her child and she will overcome any obstacles that come her way using her genuine southern charm and her brilliant creativity.  She's going to be a wonderful mother, and once my body had relaxed and the tension was gone, I saw this, and I was happy for her.  Really happy, not fake jealous-happy. 

And so I started worrying.  About the father's about-face, and how unfair it was and how hurtful it must've been for our friend.  And her sisters' not-so-joyous reactions; they'll come around, but Momma-to-be doesn't need the stress of the cold shoulder right now.  And her hip, and money, and medical care...and that's just before the baby arrives!  So many things to worry about.

But she'll be fine.  She'll make the choices that are best for her and she'll make due and she'll take it one day at a time and she'll have a beautiful little creative genius in her arms in a few short months and we'll be heading down south to snuggle that sweet bundle of love. 

I'm going to try hard not to be jealous; I'm going to try hard to not think of what might have been when I see pictures of her pregnant belly; I'm not going to think about how far along I'd be compared to her when I read her updates; I'm not going to wonder why her and not me.  I'm going to sit over here and remember how much I have and remind myself that I already have more than I ever could've dreamed or hoped for.  I'm going to remember that anything else that comes my way in this world is icing on the cake.  I'm going to keep in perspective the fact that I did not have baby fever 3 months ago.  I'm going to remind myself that if it's meant to be for Jimi and I to have a child, it'll happen in its own time; rushing it and being impatient will only get me frustrated.  And I'm going to remember that even if we don't have a child, we still have each other.

TGIF and all that jazz

I feel good today.  I'm happy, work doesn't suck, it's Friday, and I haven't cried or even gotten very sad, not even once. 

Our roommate is moving out tomorrow, back to Atlanta to be with her family while she gets back on her feet.  Tonight, we're having pizza and tequila to celebrate.  Sounds like a heck of a combination, right?  It sounds to me like something that could induce some colorful vomiting. 

I've never gotten drunk on tequila.  Maybe tonight's the night.  I drank a few beers last night, the first drinks I'd had since the positive pregnancy test.  They were okay.  Not great.  I haven't missed the drinking, and that's one change I hope sticks.  It only makes you fat. 

We've got to clean and do yard work tomorrow.  Jimi's sister is coming over Sunday.  I'm excited. 

Even for a blog titled "My Blog Is Boring", this one sure is living up to its name. 

My house is quiet.

Jimi and J are off to the grocery to buy milk and Little Debbies.  They're buying other things too, I guess, but those are the only ones I care about.

And I just realized I'm reheating leftover skillet lasagna, but he went to the store to buy hot dogs and tater tots for tonight's dinner?  Are we having 2 dinners?  First dinner?  Second dinner?  It's not unheard of, just unusual when we're not camping.

This is why we're fat.

I feel as though I have nothing of substance to write about.

I came home last night and found that my plant lights were burned out, even though they were only 3 weeks old. I took them back to the store from which I'd purchased them and was all, "Um, I bought these three weeks ago and they're already burned out."  He handed me two new bulbs and I was on my way in less than 2 minutes.

That is what I call a positive shopping experience.  No waiting, no exchange of money.  Just in and out.  Easy peasy.

God, I'm lazy.

I'm tired.  SO tired.  I went to bed at 9:30 last night, and slept mostly through the entire night, which is more uncommon than not.  And still I felt for most of the day as though the only thing I wanted most in the world was to curl up and take a nap.  I got home and took a nap.  And I'm ready to go back to bed.

I would, too.  But he's bringing back Little Debbies.  And this is why I'm fat.

The OTHER Roommate

I turned 30 in April.  My boss, who is without a doubt the coolest boss evar, got me this:

(The zombie, that was the gift.  I'm the one in blue.)

I named him Turner.  He was the star of my Super AWESOME 30th Birthday Partay.  (Wherein I asked everyone to dress as a zombie, ninja, or pirate.  That's where the boss got the idea for the zombie-gift.  These are the only costumes that appeared at the party.  I'm the zombie in the middle.  Kim was a zombie clown, kinda:

But they're pretty awesome, so that made it okay that everyone else sucks and wouldn't dress up in the middle of April.)

Since the party ended, Turner has lived behind the chair in the front sitting room.  He scares Jimi and I every now and then, even though we know he's there, but the best reaction comes from unwitting guests who don't expect to see a haunted-house-quality zombie bust coming out of the floor behind the chair in which they're sitting.

J, our new roommate, keeps forgetting he's there.

(Here he is again, in front of my desk at work:

He's super scary.)

She claims she peed herself a little this last time.

I'm a bad person for laughing, aren't I?

And then there were three.

Our friend, J, has fallen on hard times and needs a place to crash.  We have a 1600 square foot house, of which we are using only approximately 400 square feet.  She's moving in today.

I'm not sure how I feel about this.  I am a creature of habit, and my habit doesn't typically involve interacting with people other than Jimi after I get home.  I'm afraid I'll either be a cold, heartless, silent biotch, giving off a "IF YOU TALK TO ME I MAY CUT YOU" vibe, or that I'll try to be all "HEY, YOU'RE HERE!!! LET'S HANG OUT" because I'll think that's what she wants and then I'll resent her for taking up my valuable "silent" time.

See?  I really am crazy.

And I like being able to walk around the house naked.  Not all the time, I'm not one of those.  But I do like to get out of the shower in the morning, dry off, hang my towel, and walk my happy naked butt down to the basement where my clothes all live.  Pick out the day's choices, walk my happy naked butt back upstairs to get dressed.  Jimi bought me a fabulous robe for Christmas the year we met - I've not seen it since we moved into this house and that concerns me since it's bright orange and kinda hard to miss.  Now I'm going to have to find it.  And wear it.  All the time.

Is it completely effed up that this minor inconvenience is turning me into a whiny baby?  There's something wrong with me.  I'm a bad person.

And then there's the fact that we're slobs.  There's no polite way to put that, and I'm not going to try to qualify the term.  We're slobs; and any mental images you're able to conjure, well, our house has probably looked like that at least once.  And now we're going to have to try harder to not suck as bad at housekeeping.  And I really suck at housekeeping.

She's only here for two months.  That's long enough to change a habit, right?  Like, maybe we'll get used to picking our shit up off the floor.  Maybe we'll get used to putting our shoes away.  Maybe it'll become habit to do the dishes every night instead of waiting for them to pile up so that nothing more can fit into the sink, not even a spoon.

And one day, maybe pigs will fly.