Being pregnant? Totally blows.
Being pregnant and suddenly not being able to breathe anymore? Also blows.
Being pregnant and catching a stomach bug that means serious business? Yeah, you see where this is going.
Being pregnant and looking into your fashion future to see a wasteland of polo shirts lurking in wait for you? Just shoot me now.
Speaking of fashion, I am in the distinctly unpleasant position of fitting into neither my regular clothes, which I now weigh a solid five pounds too much to comfortably wear (three gained *before* any of this pregnant business, mind you) while yet remaining much, much too thin yet to fit into any maternity clothing. The result? I am thrown into the sartorial purgatory of sweatpants and a single pair of jeans I dare not wash again because once they shrink they are done for the next year.
The AC adapter for my laptop appears to be broken. The ring does not light up, the battery does not charge (but neither does it discharge so long as it is plugged in.)
Oh, and in case you were wondering since last November what kind of siding my neighbors chose... oh, dear, naive reader, they have not. The house has wintered siding-free, and now, they have begun to remove the sheets of plywood that I became so familiar with over the winter, exposing the beams that hold up a number of their windows. I am in the clutches of a suspicion that they want to somehow disassemble the whole house piece by absurdly inexplicable piece. At this rate, perhaps there will be an empty lot behind me by the time Sasha graduates from high school.
My kitchen is: unconscionable. There was a time when I stopped reporting on the condition of this most telling of rooms, because it was uniformly orderly. This is no longer the case, and I feel it best to return to reporting. So. The kitchen. It's godawful. Pray for our souls. Really, it's that bad.