I should be flogged for having not written for this length of time, but it makes me feel better to know that not a lot has happened in the month or so since my last entry. After quitting my job it has become increasingly difficult to find myself at a computer. I had signed on with a temp agency before my last day at the mortgage company, but in the two weeks following I didn't end up with more than 3 days of assignments.

For the first time since I was sixteen I really didn't have a job - it was both frightening and exhilarating. It was exhilarating each morning I woke up, glanced at the clock and then rolled back over to catch a 'few more minutes' of shut eye before waking up at nearly 10:00 in the morning (even on the weekends, a privilege I haven't encountered in years). Heaven. I got to clean house everyday, I saw Oprah for the first time since, well, I can't remember when, I 'cooked' dinner for my husband when he came home from work.

It was all frightening because eventually those bills did come in and our previously cushy budget was being whittled down to the bare minimum (also a reality I haven't faced in quite a few years). I felt guilty about how great it felt to be so very unproductive. When I quit I knew I didn't have much hope for finding a permanent full time position?who hires an obviously pregnant lady? I thought the temp positions would provide enough income to help us meet our financial needs.

My husband obviously didn't understand the obstacles I might face being unemployed and expecting. He wanted me to be out every day, handing out my resume, knocking on doors until someone would see me. I had to explain to him how NOT up to that I felt. I kept praying and trusting that God would continue to provide for our needs. I didn't feel when I quit my job that I was suppose to go out and find another full time replacement, and I still didn't feel that way. Luckily the temp assignments began to come in and I have stayed fairly busy since.

On the baby front, she (yes, it's a girl!) is growing and kicking and doing well per the midwife. When you ask most couples what sex they are hoping for, you get the standard 'We don't care, as long as it's healthy!' response. Aww, how sweet. I WANTED A BOY! I wasn't afraid to admit it either. Deep down I had this feeling that it was a girl, but I ignored it stubbornly.

Everyone I knew kept saying 'It's gonna be a girl' and I thought maybe God would give me a boy, if only so I could prove them wrong, a logical thought process, I know, but hey, I'm pregnant. I whined to Colin, How could Britney Spears get a boy, and not me?! He told me he couldn't wait to tell our girl that those crazy words had come out of my mouth. I know I will adjust to the idea, I know the moment I see her I won't care if she is a girl or a boy or a monkey, but raising a girl is a concept so foreign to me. I was raised with all brothers and boy cousins and have learned to handle the gender quite well. A girl will be an adventure.

New and improved pregnancy side effects have developed, much to my dismay. I was drying off from a shower last week when I noticed a huge purple and red bruise on the underside of my breast. I thought at first that I must have bumped into something or had been manhandled by an over zealous love making husband, but upon further inspection found it to be a large spider vein. I have heard of women developing this problem on their legs during pregnancy but so far I've had one on my face and now another on my breast...

I think my body is confused. I've also been having the back aches and a bit of sciatica, but other than that I feel pretty great. My energy level is up and I've been trying to work walking into my daily routine, parking on the 4th floor of the garage and taking the stairs, walking the mall on my lunch hour and taking an extended walk with Dexter after work. I think all the walking is helping me sleep and that's always a good thing!

I outgrew my last pair of baggy pre-pregnancy pants and have been searching for maternity pants that don't look like a deflated balloon around my legs and derriere. The midwife monitoring my weight but not telling me the number had worked great until I outgrew the last of those pants and I began to panic, trying to mentally tally up how much weight I MIGHT have gained so far. I dare not find out the actual number, which would be too risky, so I stood backward and naked on the bathroom scale and bellowed for my husband.

Colin came through the door and stopped cold, assessing the situation. He looked at me as though I was standing on the edge of a building, about to jump. "I'm not looking," I rushed to explain. "You look." He glances nervously down at the digital reading and immediately back up at me. "I just need to know? is it more than 10lbs?" He looks a little torn but hesitatingly answers. "Yes." He stands for a second and then starts to leave. "Wait!" I shout, realizing that information doesn't satisfy my curiosity. "Is it less than twenty?" He starts to protest and I cut him off, promising this is my last question. "Yes, it's less than twenty." "Is it closer to ten? or to twenty." Oops, one more question. He grunts at me instead of continuing to play my game and takes the scale with him as he leaves. I feel neither better nor worse and what can I do about it anyway?

Next week is my glucose test and my mandatory meeting with one of the OB's at the midwife's practice...hopefully I'll have more to report then :) PregnancyAndBaby.com


recommended for you