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Playing the pregnancy card.

2005-09-09 - 9:57 a.m.

Ha HAH! An advantage to being pregnant discovered.

My security pass at work expired this week so, while I can get in and out of the building where the guards check the passes, I canít get on and off my floor because my pass no longer deactivates the electronic locks. The big disadvantage of this is that the washrooms are outside the secure section, and if Iím not zipping off to the washroom, Iím going to and from the fridge near there to get or return my milk. This means having to borrow a pass from a co-worker every time I want to leave and come back.

I was supposed to get my new pass yesterday or the day before. This morning? Still no pass. BUT, I called (ďAs a pregnant woman and having to go to the bathroom all the time, itís kind of a pain to have to borrow someoneís pass constantlyÖĒ), and theyíre going to bump me up in the queue. Yay for small victories!


Grommet is already taking after her dad as a kid and being a brat. She can be kicking to beat the band when heís out of the room but the instant heís beside me? Nada. I know itís probably too early for J to feel anything from outside but Iíd like to at least try, and a co-worker has told me that the early vibrations that are too faint to be picked up with a hand on the belly can often be felt or even heard with an ear on the belly. I totally want to try this out.

J needs a pick-me-up these days; the poor guy has an absolutely miserable cold. Tonight Iím planning on making him some soup.


Tomorrow Iím having lunch with my sister in-law and a mutual friend. In the evening J and I are supposed to be going to his dadís for dinner with his sisterís family as well. This should all be fun and I should be looking forward to it, so why do I feel so mutinously bratty myself? (Maybe that brat-like tendency that the Grom takes after is mine, and not his dadís.) I know the sister in-law is going to ask all kinds of questions about my pregnancy and why shouldnít she? Sheís nice and sheís curious and Iím carrying her brotherís child. Yet Iím cringing in anticipation of it and I already am trying to tell myself to be nice and open and answer her questions instead of answering in unenlightening monosyllables like a truculent teenager. (ďHowíre you feeling?Ē ďGood.Ē, ďYouíre still teaching at the gym?Ē ďYep.Ē, ďHowís that going?Ē ďFine.Ē (obnoxious eye-roll)) Must. Maintain. Self-control. And be niceÖ even if I hate sharing sometimes.

Also, Jís dad is making ham, which Iím not fond of to begin with, and he always serves it with a chemical-y pineapple glaze from a can and scalloped potatoes from a box. I donít mind this combination once in a while and, even if I donít like it, Iím usually a very good guest and will eat whateverís put in front of me, and I know I should be grateful that having to eat food served to me is the worst of my problems to bellyache about when others are homeless in the wake of Katrina, but still, Iím totally turned off the very idea of this particular meal (and what is a journal for if not to catalogue the minutiae of oneís self-centric existence? Wah, wah, poor me, having to eat ham! *shudder*). I think of the nitrates and the chemicals going into my body and being passed along to Grommet and I recoil from the idea. Maybe I can sneak some food beforehand and eat very little there, or even play the pregnancy card again? Itís well known that pregnant women get food aversions, right? Right?

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