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And forever passes by, and I feel an emptiness I can't quite identify...
This little white box. I've missed it. But sometimes it's all I can do to just live. There's no time left for the writing about it.
Not that it's been bad. It's just that life is pretty exhausting right now, and I can't seem to bring myself to do much with my downtime but stare vacantly at the moving pictures on the big screen the Husband made the focal point of the house. This being pregnant stuff really sucks the life out of you. Everything I read says that I'm supposed to be full of energy and horny as hell through my second trimester. Well...Apparently, I'm the exception to the rule. Too tired. Oh, and feeling way too lumpy.
I mean that. Never in my life have I felt this unattractive. I'm fine when I'm dressed and people come up and put their hands on my belly and coo at the baby inside (amazingly, that doesn't bother me the way I thought it would, but, then again, it hasn't been a stranger who has tried yet). But get me naked, make me look at myself, and BAM--it's just not a good thing. I've lost my hip bones. I've never not been able to see them before. And the weirdest part is--I've been eating everything in sight, but only gained about two pounds.
I'm not hating the baby. It's not a negative feeling about being pregnant, or what's to come. It's all about the physical part, what being pregnant is doing to my body. And I know it's illogical, and I'm trying like hell to get past it. But it's there, lurking just below my clothes, waiting for me to step out one of the three pairs of pants that fit and happen to walk past a mirror...
And the unappeasable desire part? Only in my dreams. And I mean that quite literally. Almost every night, I've been having these explicit erotic dreams. The bad news is that none of them have been about the Husband. The REALLY bad news is that more than half of them have been about the Artboy.
Ah yes, the Artboy.
Today's his birthday. Which really has nothing to do with what I'm writing about, but it's on my mind, and I thought I'd mention it.
Yeah, so...he's the star of my dreams, which has had the not-unexpected effect of making me feel rather guilty when I wake up, although I've done nothing but try to sleep. Not sure what to do about that, either.
It's too bad, really, that they AREN'T about the Husband. It might help overcome the whole poor-body-image thing.
In other news, we got a new washing machine. The old one gave up in the middle of a load, joining the line of appliances I have touched only to have them break lately. It started with the garbage disposal, which broke off the sink while I was cleaning out the refrigerator into it, spewing mawed up tortellini and beer all over everything under the sink. Thankfully, I'm past the morning sickness phase, because the smell would definitely have pushed me over the vomit edge. I've gotten to the point where I just don't want to touch anything, for fear it' ll blow up or shut down or plain refuse to work. I'm taking a chance with the computer!
Hey, at least the new washer's under warrantee!
Off to NH for the long weekend. Happy Memorial Day, y'all. Think good thoughts. *And yes, before y'all get outraged and sign my guestbook saying, "It's NOEL, you idiot!" go read Television Without Pity for clarification on why I feel the need to call him Knoll. He's an idiot. It just suits him better. How could ANYONE ever choose him over Ben?!
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