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It's My Pity Party And I'll Cry If I Want To

Oh. My. God. I realize that I had it ridiculously easy when I was pregnant with Conor. The only symptoms I experienced were the inability to say no to a nap or a Chalupa. Now I'm wondering how I'm going to possibly to survive the next 9 months. I mean really, how do women do it? All I want to do is curl up in a nauseous, migraine induced coma.

And who's bright idea was it to take coffee away from pregnant women?? STUPID. I've never craved a 6 pack of Mountain Dew as badly as I do right now. I'm pretty sure if I could drown my sorrows in caffeine right now I would feel better. Well maybe not the intense need to stick my head in a toilet but my forehead would probably stop throbbing.

And how about the moodiness? Geez I feel bad for my mother having to deal with a teenage me, although at this point I'm putting that pierced, black haired, death cab for cutie lover to shame. I was on a hormone high with my first pregnancy, I loved life. People were concerned by my peppiness. I was waiting tables and I STILL loved people.

Now, other than work clothes, I don't think I've worn anything but pajama pants and fuzzy socks because my motto right now is "why bother?"

And forget about sex! I actually had a meltdown today while informing C that I HATED kisses and why did he keep kissing me? Hadn't he ever HEARD of personal space? I mean really, how's a girl suppose to breath if you're all up in my space trying to give me a good morning kiss. Isn't one a day enough?? And how dare you tell me I look sexy, don't look at me. Geez!! The things I have to put up with!

Right? I feel for him too.

I also need to know how pregnant monsters such as myself deal with toddlers without creating mini monsters. Because if I was an impatient person before, I now don't even know the definition of that profane adjective anymore.

I have to pull myself together. I think the anxiety of waiting for that first appointment isn't helping.

Did I mention I'm trying to survive off one cup of coffee a day? This is madness. Sheer madness. If only I could eat obscene amounts of Milanos instead. Maybe some ginger ale? Oooh, now we're really living life on the edge.

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