October 17^th, 2013

I wake up a lot during the night (I always have). Most of the times I fuzzily wonder "Am I still pregnant?"

That's easy to figure out. I just poke my boobs. Ow.

They really aren't kidding about the sore boobs. Nothing compared to period soreness. I don't even want to know what my boobs are gonna look like in a few months, but apparently they can get three sizes bigger. I'm a DD already. DDD, E, F?

Is that right? Is "F" even a size in the U.S.?!

Anyway, I followed this routine a lot last night, but it's 6:33 now and I've given up on trying to fall back to sleep. I'm not a night person regardless of my desires to be so. I'm usually ready for bed by eleven at the latest and I am never, ever in bed past ten without being sick or having stayed up ridiculously late the night before.

That might actually help with the parenting thing, I think.

Later today I am going to meet up with Mrs. Jessica B. She is phenomenal, my parenting idol. This woman has five children all under the age of seven and would you believe that they are all well behaved, brilliant kids?

They are. Because Jess knows how to parent unlike anyone I've ever met, and I fully plan on taking advantage of her expertise. I also hope that she'll doula for me...

(English class time! A doula is a woman who assists in a birth. However, she is meant specifically to assist the birthing mother, whereas most of the other medical personnel in the birthing room are there predominantly for the baby. She presents knowledge on different birthing positions [would you believe you don't have to be on your back!], is able to stand up for the birth plans and wishes of the mother and, if a father or partner is involved, she can help him or her do their best to help the mother without taking over the partner's job.)

(Having a doula in your birthroom drastically decreases your chances of needing a C-Section, labor induction, pain relief, or any ther kind of medical interference with what is and should be [in most low-risk cases] a very natural part of a woman's life. If you are going to have a baby, get a doula. They are vital.)

I have to drop off a job application today. Kinda sucks because, like, I wanna do something I'm good at, but my strengths seem to be limited to customer service. I'm not fast nor do I put together puzzles at any great speed. I am not assertive or competitive and my memory sucks. But, goodness, customers love me. I like people. People are my strength. Retail isn't necessarily.

Bah. I'll get the job that I need to get. Barring that, I'll beg for money on the street corner.

Baby news is starting to spread. I told a loose-lipped person, so I should have known. But yeah, it's getting out there. I told Eddie that I'd wait two weeks from the day I broke the news to him before I'd share the info on the interwebs, but at this point, I don't think I'll need to.

Exception to my two-week-delay in telling folks: If the father decides he isn't up for a compromise and that he will not be in the child's life. Then screw him, the information is mine to share.

Other exception: If he decides he can compromise but needs or asks for some more time to get used to the idea. I'd happily keep it quiet for my whole first trimester if that helps him help us.

Anyway, here is an illustration of what I think my roommate's birth scene is going to look like:

My boobs and my belly are going to have to apply for their own citizenship.