Rhinoceros Running

It’s official: the zen is gone. I am Cranky von Crankenstein. Please enjoy the following totally random thoughts:

I am lovin’ maternity pants. Why aren’t all pants like this? All pants should have elastic panels. You know those days when you overdo it at lunch? It’s just more comfortable. No zippers or binding waistbands. It shaves minutes off bathroom time.

The dog has been using doorways for her entire life. She’s a smart dog. But tonight, she forgot the door opens in and got a door in the face, much to my chagrin.

For some reason, my pregnancy symptoms are intensifying. Like, the heartburn is getting worse. Despite my expanding waistline, things are getting smooshed together in my abdomen, so even though it’s just the end of the first trimester, I already feel a degree of physical discomfort I hadn’t expected. I take all this as a sign that the baby continues to grow, which puts to rest this irrational fear I had that something is wrong. I’m looking forward to Tuesday’s Dr. appointment where I can see the heartbeat again.

Adventures on the bus: today, a man got on the bus and appeared to either pass out or fall sound asleep in his seat when he proceeded to pee himself. Yesterday, a woman suffering from schizophrenia (she was clearly responding to voices or sounds only she was hearing, hence, my diagnosis of schizophrenia) ranted and raved from her seat at the back of the bus. What is always interesting to me is how everyone just pretends like nothing’s happening. Like yesterday, when I was going to have myself a good cry at Target, I knew I could just stand there and sob and no one would even look sideways at me.

My new favorite place to go is Forever 21. There is always great, upbeat dance-y music playing that I always like, and it’s visually very enticing to me. They do sell some stuff that seems a little whore-ish (ha ha, listen to me, passing judgement!), but there’s a huge variety of stuff. For some weird reason, I find it relaxing to thumb through the racks of jersey-beaded tops and sequined dresses. I can’t actually wear any of this stuff. Even when I wasn’t rapidly expanding, the large-sized stuff was a little dicey. Depending on the cut, many things didn’t accommodate the boobs. And now, well, forget it.

I drink vast quantities of water, juice and milk. I am not dehydrated. I slather on the lotions, and yet, my skin is so dry. It’s like another small example of how my body is just working on another agenda.

I’d just like to say that although I have behaved in a somewhat trampy fashion, I never actually dressed like a tramp.

I’ve been really working myself over about this whole absentee-dad thing, and I decided today I just need to let go of it. I can’t force someone to want to be a dad. My thinking is that we’re all supposed to be grown-ups, so let’s take responsibility. This is hardly the end of the world. It can be a really amazing thing if you let it. So, we’ll figure out who should be ponying up the child support when we can administer the paternity tests, and all’sI can do is let him know that the door is open. The kid will need to accept that. There are worse things than just having one parent. If the kid persists in thinking this is a tragedy, I’ll ship ‘em off to somewhere where clean water is a luxury and let ‘em experience something really hard. Maybe a foreign study in Burma after a tsunami and the government won’t allow foreign donations of desperately needed assistance. Maybe China, where kids work instead of wear Nikes to school. (See? Cranky. Poor baby is in utero, minding their own business, and I’ve got my dander up.)

Side note: through a discussion board, I found my way to a child support calculator, which is hysterical. Based on the non-custodial parent’s income, it figures out how much they have to pay. The figure this thing came up with for me was a fraction of what it is going to cost to support this baby. A fraction. I know a lot of custodial parents who work multiple jobs. I think parents hsould have to split the costs a little more fairly. Just like the custodial parent, the parent who pays support needs to figure out how to come up with it.

Note to self: if I have a son, diplomatically explain the importance of taking responsibility for one’s (how shall I say this) emissions?

I went through a phase where I thought the baby was surely a girl, but I’m back the other way now, thinking he’s a boy.

I really thought I had a long list of complaints since I was feeling a little emotionally drained by the end of the day, but it’s amazing what a little food and quiet downtime do for one’s sense of well-being.