the adventures of preg-brain and sleep dep girl
I’ve lost all meta-cognition, so how can I post? Here’s proof:
1. Preg-brain was thrilled to make it to Oz complete with clothes for Claire; when we went up in July I forgot to bring anything for her to wear, and we had to make an emergency stop at a consignment store in San Rafael.
This time, it turned out, I had forgotten my own underwear.
Recheng offered to lend me some, but she wears butt-floss on her tiny Asian ass, so I borrowed Jeremy’s boxers instead. Wow. Boxers are incredibly comfy. No wonder men rule the world.
2. Salome, AKA sleep-dep girl, drove me around all afternoon. When she turned on the ignition she said “Where the HELL is that music coming from?”
“Your car radio,” I said.
We looked at each other.
“Did you think it was a heavenly choir?”
“Shut up.”
“I am totally blogging this.”
“Shut. UP.”
We laughed all the way to 24th Street.
I finished work yesterday so today was my first full day of lying around waiting to have Julia. It was filled with entirely appropriate activities: Erin Brockovich on TiVo, glorious chicken from Gooood Frikin, pre-natal yoga, a visit to Shannon and the divine Ruairi (who snoozed adorably in my arms), and birth prep class. I’ve done so much yoga lately that two of the women in birth prep recognized me from separate yoga studios (I actually go to three). Yoga has saved me this time around. Without it, my joints would have calcified months ago. I’d be a wizened little ossified Venus of Willendorf.
Indian summer is in full swing, with nasturtiums and California poppies throwing out their very last blooms. I’ve been having a huge amount of fun just pottering around the neighborhood, overdosing on chai and madeleines, relishing being able to walk to the library and Shannon’s hospital room and Mitchell’s Ice Cream. This house really is ideally located for lazy pregnant girls. No wonder people have started to call it Maternal Heights.
