Life notes

I'm at this point of the pregnancy where the nausea is getting slightly better, but the tiredness is *ss-kicking. Me, the lady who never sleeps during the day and almost never sleeps in, fell asleep on the couch Saturday afternoon. Let me tell you, friends, this is something worth noting because I probably haven't napped since The Boy was a wee newborn. Seriously.

Clearly I am Very Tired.

Being this tired also makes me grumpy, so the cars that cut me off and the co-workers who demand writing on unreasonable timelines and a child who is ... merely three ... get some sometimes inappropriate-to-the-situation irritatedness. And don't get me started on the sh*t that The Man has been putting up with, including the storms of tears over the weekend over the fact that I loaned my maternity clothes to my thoughtless sister who somehow managed to lose five pairs of pants. And a few shirts. You know, about $250 worth of clothes. Which is annoying and which makes me angry because this is not, as many of you know, the first time my sister has said or done something terribly thoughtless and hurtful, but five pairs of pants is not, in fact, probably worth three days of unremitting anger, and the entertaining of thoughts of cutting her from my life forever and ever and she shall repent until kingdom come, etc.

I suppose I should be grateful that she did provide me with four boxes of other maternity wear, but it's less exciting when every single pair of pants in those four boxes is a medium or large, and so don't fit.

(Yet. It's rather likely that they might by the time this is all over, given my propensity for weight gain in pregnancy. Which last time was in excess of 50 pounds, for the record. Probably close to 60, but the advantage of the midwives is that they don't weigh you, and I stopped weighing myself because I just didn't need to see the number. Healthy child far outweighs the weight gain, but I still didn't need to see my weight start with a 2 instead of a 1. In fact such a weight gain that a woman I met in a post-partum class at six weeks post-birth saw me again a year later and didn't recognize me, I was so much smaller. True story.)

Where was I?

Oh yes. Anyway as much as I desire at this moment consigning my relationship with my sister to the very depths of hell, I do think that some restraint might be nice. It's not so much that I think she didn't do a terrible thing -- I do. Frankly if I can say it, I treat casual acquaintances better than she has sometimes treated me. I do think that writing off people is a sometimes necessary evil, family or otherwise, and I have let friendships go because they are too poisonous, but this is someone I have to interact with for probably another 30 years, and I figure that I just need to keep my expectations for our relationship at rock bottom, and just let it go. She's not a friend, she's not someone I would be friends with were I not related to her, she's not a force for good and positivity in my life, but my mother and father are, and it's worth it to me to keep civil to make them happy. It's not worth the antagonism around the Thanksgiving table.

However, I admit with some sadness that once they are out of the picture, all bets for the continuation of our relationship are off.

Anyway after this dreary post, I do have a little bit of fun for you: my child, stir-crazy from a rainy Saturday, spend part of the day running about the house like a crazy person, dressed in only his underwear, making rocket / car noises, and holding an American dollar bill to the top of his head. I think this is why we have children. To remind ourselves of the absurdity of life.