76.

There is no possible way that I could really write what I wanted here without sounding like a complete bitch. What's that? Too late?




I need a vacation from my vacation.

75.

• I feel huge today. Huge and emotional and swollen.
• I know everyone is talking about Michael Jackson, but Farrah Fawcett's death really makes me sad. A family member of mine recently passed of the same disease, and everytime I hear someone describe how she was at the end makes my throat tighten.
• I am 'officially' on vacation, and all I feel right now is stress. There are just more things to tick off my list and places to go, when all I want to do is sleep for a couple days and have someone wash my hair.

74.

In our now spare bedroom, soon to be nursery, hangs my wedding dress on the back of the door. Sitting in the middle of the room are the huge boxes that hold the crib and change table and dresser. On the book shelf are novels I've read over and over, some of them I've had since I was a child. Some are new versions of books I remember from my childhood, bought to read to our baby.
The room has housed those who we've loved, guests from get togethers that lasted well into the morning, and on one occasion, an angry wife who thought she'd murder the man snoring beside her, vows or no vows.
I stood outside the door today, looking in, and tried to imagine what it will be like in three months. When I'm in the rocking chair in the wee hours of the morning, or folding tiny onesies in the drawer. Even typing this recollection makes my heart swell and eyes fill up. See, it's this emotion, this love that fills me with hope and happiness. The other side of the spectrum is the dissapointment I felt when I saw that there were no 'technical cases' of pregnancy rage. Thanks a lot, Google.

73.

• Why do I feel less conspicious buying KY jelly at Walmart than if I were at Shoppers Drug Mart?
• Last night was the first time I puked all year, let alone this pregnancy, and it was HARSH. It brought back a memory of my mother holding my head while I flopped about because as a child, I could not get sick without LOSING MY SHIT COMPLETELY.
• I'm Ontario bound at the end of the month and I am already dreading the humidity.
• I ate well all day today, so if I want to have V8 juice, rice, and ice cream for dinner - so be it.

72.

I felt the baby kick a lot today. Fucking awesome.

71.

I've always said it's hard to read a book by any public figure unless you know their speech patterns. Originally, I bought Are you there Vodka? It's me, Chelsea because the title, oh, I don't know, spoke to me. And a friend had raved how fantastically funny she was. I read it without ever having watched her stand-up routine, or her late night show, Chelsea Lately. (Both of which are fucking awesome, FYI.) It didn't matter, I loved it. Hard to say whether or not it was my vodka taking effect (I was not preggo at this time) or her fucked up but charming stories.
Anyhoo, because I am fond of both drinking and humour, especially when combined, I borrowed Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher. You know, Princess Leah. It had great reviews, but I'm not even linking that bitch because it was sooo lame. Hard to say if it was her dry, allegedly amusing stories about growing up in an inbred hollywood family, or the fact it may be a generational thing and I can't leap that far back in time to give a shit.
I haven't had much time to read lately, which makes me sad. I've been a voracious reader since the age of three when I started with Archie comic books. So, to lighten both my mood and yours, I give you Chelsea Handler. And if you happen to watch this while drinking, pour a little out for your homie.

70.

Life comes in, life goes out.
It's hard to say if it's all pregnancy hormones ... I've always been somewhat emotional, and a recent loss is really taking a toll on me. Today is the first that I've had time to be floored by emotion, as death keeps you pretty busy with paperwork and planning. My heart is both wrenching and relieved.
I love you.

69.

I love summer. Street vendors, freshly mowed grass, the windows rolled down with sunroof open. Smooth legs and pedicured nails, sunglasses, letting the sun dry your hair. It's certainly the best season to make love outside.

68.

Yes. For the record, I am assimilated.
Babies are ALL I think about, talk about, look at, and did I say talk about?
Something I need to remember: I am not the first woman to be pregnant. Some in fact, may find my never ending chatter boring, and kind of obnoxious.
To be truthful, once dooce went all mommy-blogger, that turned me off. Surely she could find something else to write about?
What I didn't realize is: she didn't want to.

67.

After an absolutely shitastic day, I am going to have a bubble bath, listen to some classical music, and eat frozen strawberries in the tub. *If you don't like it, go fucking blow a goat.

*What I actually meant when speaking to 90% of people today.