Apparently, I'm a Clutz now...

Now the objective of this blog is to keep you, the readers, updated on my (and now our) lives, in a way that is hopefully entertaining and/or enriching.This is a more successful endeavor when unusual things are happening to me. Like living in the jungle. Or being pregnant! So I apologize for the lack of posts since February (as absolutely nothing remotely interesting happened to me other than my secret first trimester).
But without any further ado!!! Let me regale you with the unusual happenings of my pregnant life!!

*Ahem*

I don't know about other pregnant women. But I have lost the ability to manage the simplest of things. And the ability to manage my reactions to such lapses.
What do I mean by this...?

Have you ever just been holding your keys, like a normal person, in your hand, without walking or moving or anything, and suddenly they just fall out of your hand? just fall. No hand spasm, no jerking, no twiddle. More like your hand suddenly becomes insubstantial and the keys fall through your phantom phalanges. This happens regularly. Like all the time. If I put my keys in my hands, my husband stoops just in case.

Once, I tried to pour a creamer in my coffee at a restaurant. As I worked on peeling off the paper, I failed. The container flipped out of my hands and landed right in my coffee. Its sealed lid bobbed, mocking me. I let out a strangled cry as my hormones and brain got into a fight over whether it was the right decision to start crying in the middle of a restaurant over the creamer in my coffee. Luckily, Jacob was ever vigilant and not only spooned it out of my cup in a jiffy, but also (successfully) removed the paper and poured (not put) it in my cup.

I poured myself a cup of milk at the house. The last cup of milk in the jug. And I set it down on the table. Like a normal person. Except, as we know, I am not a normal person anymore. I am a pregnant lady. I don't know how or why the cup of milk capsized. All I know is that I was standing in a white kitchen chanting, "I will not cry over spilt milk, I will not cry over spilt milk..." as Jacob ran in with a towel.
(As these stories have indicated, I have also stopped being a problem solver. Luckily, Jacob has stepped up into that void.)

Is this just me? Or is this a thing?

The Phlebotomist

This post will be peppered with Fun Facts About Elizabeth! See if you can find them all!

We had been sitting in the examining room for 2 hours now, which says nothing of how long we had been in the waiting room, before the ultrasound and after the ultrasound. Outside the blinds, across the street, there was a McDonalds. It's golden arches like the gates to paradise! (Obviously, my famished stomach had romanticized the idea of McDonalds.) I didn't send Jacob out because I figured the Doctor would come any second. Hours later, my decision did not fill my empty stomach with anything but regret. I hate having to wait at the drs!* I come 15 minutes early so I will be ready at my appointment! Don't overbook yourself!

And just as I was about to overheat from anger, the phlebotomist entered the room and my hot rage was replaced with cold fear. I do not appreciate being stabbed by needles.* I also have a tendency to loose my ability to filter thoughts before they pass through my lips with trying to maintain my composure.* Also, I am hilarious.* It was these things combined that pave the way for the story I entitle:

The Phlebotomist

This slight black woman entered my room with a chuckle already on her lips. She set down her Kit of Doom and pat her short curly hair before putting on her gloves. 

"Are you going to take my blood?!"

She chuckled a bit before saying, "Yes, I've got to take some blood. We have to do some testing!"

This she said as she prepped her cotton ball, removed the bandaid from the wrapper and stuck on end of it on her glove, literally at hand. 

"Look at her!" I say to my husband. "She's got a system! She's got this stuff down!"

She chuckles some more as she comes at me with the Band of No-Circulation and the Needle, which had a blue thing on it. 

"What is that?! That's looks like a straw!" my filterless mouth blurts.

She starts laughing, "What looks like a straw!?"

"That thing!" I exclaim pointing at the blue thing. 

"Elizabeth," my husband admonishes me. "You know what that is. You've taken blood before."

A look of disbelief and horror cross my face. "What!?!?" I gasp. "I would never remove blood from someone's body! Why would you do that?! Blood belongs on the inside of people's bodies! No offense, ma'am." I say turning to the woman aiming a needle at my vein. 

At this point, the phlebotomist is cracking up. 

In turn, I begin laughing and with my laughter, tears start spilling down my face. 

"What are you crying for!??!" she asks.

"Sometimes. that happens. when I laugh."* I manage to choke out between bouts of laughter and gasping for air. 

At that the woman fell over on the floor laughing. 

"Look at her!" I roar. "She fell over! Woman has to take her gloves off!"

"Are you serious?!" she roars back. "You cry when you laugh?"

"Pregnancy is confusing!" I cry. 

And we all broke down again, roaring, rolling, crying, the works.  

Pulling ourselves together, she repreps herself as I led to the soiling of her gloves. 

"Honey, you have to talk to her," she tells Jacob, "because she can't talk to me!"

So Jacob starts talking and I, apparently a little unaware of what all was going on, look down at the moment she's about to stab me. And, with no filter, exclaim, "She's about to stab me!"

Which sets her laughing again. 

"Elizabeth!" Jacob says, "You're not supposed to look"

"She looked down at the exact wrong moment," guffaws  the lady who is still laughing. 

"Ok! Ok! I've got it this time."

Jacob resumes talking. She stabs me. I let out a strangled noise of pain. 

"You're doing great, honey. That's two. It looks like she just has one more... oh... wait..."

"What?! How many!? How many is she taking!?!?"

"I don't know. A lot?"

The phlebotomist starts laughing again. 

"Don't make her laugh, Jacob!" I scolded. "She'll break off the needle inside of me! I don't even know how you would get that out! I would just have a needle in my arm!"

"They would cut you open," my ever logical husband explains. 

"I DON'T WANT THEM TO CUT ME OPEN!"

At that moment a very concerned looking nurse explodes into the room! All three of us are dying laughing. I have tears running down my red face. Blood is pouring out of my arm (into the appropriate receptacles.) Jacob is doubled over beside himself. The phlebotomist body is racking with peals of laughter. 

"We're fine! We're fine!" she told the nurse. 

And after we had a minute to compose ourselves, I pondered, of course aloud, "Was I being loud?"

3 Reasons Why Waiting to Announce is Lame

Ok so by now it's public knowledge that I'm pregnant. If you didn't know that then.... GUESS WHAT!??!?! I'M PREGNANT!
Ok.
It's been a while since I've posted anything because I've been totally baby-brained for the past 3... 4ish months and we've been keeping it on the down low for like 3 months! Which has been pretty lame for a multitude of reasons which I will enumerate for you here:

1. Demands to meet at 8 am.
   So here's the thing. My biggest suffering has been sheer exhaustion. Working in the office, (trying) to do Partnership Development, basic living and staying awake has been quite the feat. Now you add to this the fact that I can't have caffeine. (I had to go on a cup of half-caff coffee a day, just to keep the withdrawal headaches away! But I've since been weaned, so there goes that modest boost.) Furthermore, my husband doesn't get home from work until like super late. After midnight. And while I'm cognitively aware that he tries (to some degree) to be quiet when he gets home and I'm in bed, I'm a very light sleeper. On top of ALL of this, I am susceptible to the pregnancy mood swings. So what people are asking is for me to not get sufficient sleep, not drink coffee, and roll out of bed as a happy functioning individual who can contribute to something instead of violently removing someone's head. And while expressing, "Hey, so... I'm pregnant. And 8am is too early for someone making a human being without coffee" would be a satisfactory explanation to all involved, I have to go the cryptic route of "I am.... unavailable... at that time." "Are you sure you can't make it?" "Yes. Yes, quite."
2. Attempts to be polite about my physical appearance.
   "You look! ... ........ great...."
   "I'm pregnant!" would totally justify why I'm rocking the muffin top and the buttons on my shirt are a bit tight. It would explain why there was no energy to put on make up or do anything more with my hair than whip it up in a ponytail and wonder when the last time I washed it was. My clothes look wrinkled where they're not stretched to capacity because I did in fact just roll out of bed. Naps, I take at every available moment. I am rocking the grunge look like it's hot! But it's not....
3. Odd looks when I stuff my face.
   So it's not enough that I look horrible, but I'm also, constantly, shoveling food into my face. Which receives no sympathy when you have quite obviously been putting on some pounds. Especially when filling the face happens during conversations. "I'm pregnant" would garner sentiments like the technically incorrect "Oh! You eat, honey! You're eating for two!" or the subtle threat "Eat up while it'll still stay down!" Instead, my frequent bouts of ravaging hungry which are quickly satisfied with a few bites are deserving of comments like, "...do you have worms?" ".... no..."

Now that I'm in the second trimester, these things have mostly gone away. I'm rocking some maternity pants, which takes care of the muffin top with a bit more class than the sweats... And not only have I been less tired, but now I sleep like a rock! Win! "I'm hungry" is uttered about 8-12 times a day, but I can now justify it, which is lovely.

Did you have sufferings found in keeping pregnancy secrets?