War, Schmar. I’ve Got Samsonite-Sized Eye Bags.

Today is November 17th. I am 18 weeks pregnant. This stubborn misalignment of the number stars bothers me a little but I shall endeavor to overcome.

The last time I was pregnant I posted but one belly shot, I believe. It was my 17-week shot. It looked like this:

Look at that muscle tone. Now imagine it coated with about 5 more inches of flesh. That is why my facebook status was “[cheesefairy] is a broad expanse of flesh” for two weeks.

And holy hannah I am still tired. I guess that mythical 2nd trimester boost of energy only happens if you are not doing anything but being pregnant and maybe clipping your toenails every few weeks. Should I complain more? Enh, why not. If you can’t take it, come back tomorrow.

My back hurts. My nose is constantly stuffed. I get winded walking from the couch to the bathroom. I got up to pee in the night and when I was back in bed, I laid there, panting, for a good two minutes, wondering if I was having a heart attack or lung attack or attack of the clones or what.

I was all set to go out tonight – go OUT, I KNOW! – and then around 2 pm I started drooping and then, by 4 pm, I could barely stand in the kitchen long enough to start cooking chili and I love cooking chili and then, by 6 pm, with Trombone still running around the house, hollering “DOOTCH!” (means juice), I was on the floor, leaning up against the couch, imagining what it would be like to just get under the couch cushions and eat dust mites until I die.

Luckily, Saint Aardvark no longer works from home on Saturdays which means he was available to wrangle all afternoon while I sat and frowned and was weak and felt like weeping.

Oh and I thought I was going to get away with no boob pain through this pregnancy? Wrong. Allasudden this week they’re all “eek, the wind blew on me!” and “aiii, you climbed some stairs!” Come on. Let’s get with the program, boobs. You have a long, engorged, leaky, uneven road ahead in a few months. Take this time to just sit and rest. And DO NOT even THINK about GROWING.

Seriously. I will smite you. Don’t think I won’t.

So I’m inside tonight, no change there. I was a fool to think I could make a trip downtown in nice clothes to bowl with friends who may not even be friends, I haven’t seen them in so long. And so, a rousing chorus to send us off to TV land and then, to bed:

I lay my head on the railroad track
And wait for the double-E
The railroad don’t run no more
Poor, poor pitiful me.