Movin' On Up
My little family and I have moved in to our new home. I have two happy dogs, a very happy cat, and mostly happy husband (at least that is what he tells me, but I suspect the stress of the last few months as well as the upcoming end-of-pregnancy is taking a little of the wind out of his sails). I also have TONS of unpacking to do. This should be fun and invigorating but who am I kidding? I am lazy! I do not feel like beautifying my surroundings, I am tired and huge and I just want to go to the beach (preferably one where nobody can see me either because they are blind or I am invisible...it's only fair that if I can't see my thighs and bum, neither should they).
There is supposedly a nesting impulse that happens at the end of pregnancy. I am still waiting for that to kick in. So in the meantime I will watch the handymen in my yard fixing my deck, and listen to the intermittent alarm noises coming from the installation of my Fort-Knox-esque home security system. I am under a strange form of house arrest - I can't leave the house in case the electrician, the handymen, the alarm company, the carpet company, and or the ups truck shows up. I am literally honour-bound to wait between the hours of 8am and 6pm so as not to miss the 45 minutes they will actually be here. Obviously someone has to occupy the throne and give audience to this court of characters and now that I am not working I am the regent in charge of reception.
Complaining As An Art
As you've more or less guessed I have made complaining a large part of my day. I don't take it too seriously, but at the risk of boasting, I have really become rather talented in this department. Being hugely pregnant cuts a sympathetic figure which, i have discovered, enables me to get away with more kvetching than I should be allowed to. In fact, I have even learned how to parlay the inconvenience of my baleen form and pre-maternal glow (created by the constellations of shiny red pimples on my face) into discounts and favours from otherwise tough types. It adds up too! I challenge any lady to stuff a pillow in her shirt before going to buy something at Ikea. Try signing up with a service provider while looking equal parts teary, nauseated, bloated, and grateful...kaching! In fact, just a taxi ride becomes an uncommon luxury as doors are opened for you and bags carried to the door. So there are perks (but shhh, I am still playing the sympathetically encumbered preggo).
I feel good. Writing this little bit got my juices flowing again, so I expect you'll have more rantings to read soon. Now I am going to go do not very much (hey at least I'm honest).