An assortment of nonsense

Please do not read the following as a complaint, by any means. Do not read it as anything other than a musing, a bewilderment, an internal query, an observation, or a pondering. Choose whatever adjective you prefer, but definitely not a complaint.

It has been 2 weeks since the article was published and life has changed. Not that I coveted my former low profile and not that I expect such recognition outside the boundaries of Safety Harbor or just my own street even, but losing a level of anonymity is a little strange.

Let me explain. I expected a few friends to comment. I expected a few unexpected people to comment. That about covers my expectations.

What I did not expect was for my garbage cans to be taken in and out because my neighbors read about my pregnancy rather than notice on their own. I did not expect mere acquaintances to save, laminate, or otherwise display my article in any way shape or form. I did not expect my book to be auctioned off for money much higher than the cover price.

And I certainly did not expect to stare back at my own crooked smile when I walked into the exam room at the OB's office. OH MY GOD HOW PERFECTLY DISCONCERTING WHILE IN THE STIRRUPS. It made trying to distract myself by looking at myself while in that horrific position really rather creepy.

It feels like I'm stalking myself. Maybe I should get a restraining order.

******

Anyway, the doctor's visit was a mixed bag. Besides the self-voyeurism, I just have not been feeling all that well, honestly. I'll spare you the symptoms but it's starting to make me a little pensive. But no matter what the test results today show, I have officially started one aspect of my freelance maternity leave, as last night was the last meeting I will cover for a while. When they started speaking of the March agenda, I gratefully thought, Yahoo! I can honestly not give a shit! And none too soon as last night was the single most uncomfortable experience of my life trying to fit and stay still in those plastic folding chairs while fighting off contractions and hot flashes. At one point during a diatribe on the difference between beige and tan exterior paint, I thought my water was going to break. And the sad part is, I knew that not one bastard in that room would drive me to the hospital. They would fail to pass the motion by a 2/3 majority.

The good news was, if such a thing is conceivable at this point, is total weight gain--20 pounds. Approaching the eighth month and 20 pounds. I feel like I want to eat cake or something to celebrate, but then that might prevent future celebrations. But it is Valentine's Day after all, so perhaps a chocolate covered cherry or seven might be appropriate...

Happy Valentine's Day.