I was reading one of those this-is-what-is-going-on-with-your-body-and-your-babies websites and I read the following:
“At 15 weeks you are starting to feel more pregnant.” and “You may also find that you have a cold at 15 weeks pregnant.” 

Uh, understatement. 

I went to my first MothersOfMultiples group meeting last night.  There were 3 other first-time meeting attenders.  One (Asian) was 18 weeks with twins.  One (Indian) was 33 weeks with twins.  Another (Caucasian) was 19 weeks with triplets.  I mention ethnicity because I LOVE living “in the city” in an urban area for exactly this reason – its diversity.  With the the exception of the thirty-three-weeker, all their bumps were same size or smaller than mine.  Grrrrr.  It will be good to hang around this gang post-babies, to whip my ass back in shape.  In addition to the four of us, there was one other pregnant person in attendance, a hispanicy Mexican, like me.  She was around 29 weeks.  Her head, boobs, bump, ass, and thighs were all one entity.  For me, at 5’4”, inherently short-waisted, and slightly overweight at conception (thank you laziness and fertility drugs), I’ll look more like her than the taller, fitter crowd.  Most mesicans don’t do pretty pregnancy.  Except my sister.  And Salma Hayek, the biotch. 

I’ve had some black flowy pants with elastic waist that I’ve had forever.  I love those pants.  They are comfortable, stretchy, and suprisingly professional looking.  Until yesterday.  When I tried them on and they fit more like sprayed on Lycra.  The kind LanceHotPantsArmstrong wears.  I stared at the mirror, appalled.  Who was that sausage looking back at me?  I shed them quickly and hid in my closet while I regained my composure. 

Speaking of closets, the Beloved and I have been coming out right and left – both about being pregnant, and about not being the heterosexualwhoboughtahousewithawomanandnevertalksaboutmen that they thought I was.  Being pregnant will force that.  Having kid(s) will necessitate it over and over again.  The responses have been more good than bad.  But several posts on that topic and my observations thereof are forthcoming.  

I have cottage cheese where my triceps used to be and I think I saw some above my knee.  I need to exercise.  But my lower back/butt/hips hurt too much to move faster than a waddle. 

I hate chain email and most forwarded emails.  I know it’s the only way some people know how to communicate, like “PING, see?  I exist.  Thinking of you because I added you to my ‘to’ distribution list.”  But they’re still annoying.  Especially the ones when people don’t bother to DELETE the other 3,629 names/extension from the people it has gone to before, and you have to scroll down 17 pages to get to the one thing that says “you’re my friend, now send this to 10 people including back to me within 10 minutes….or you’ll die.”  Seriously, do the senders of these actually track who replies?  Does their self-esteem get chipped when I don’t reply? 

In the coming 30 or so work days between now and the end of the year, I am taking vacation for or receiving time off for 14 of them.  This is what it must be like to work for the government.  Except that I still have to do 30 days worth of work in those 14 days. 

This morning, when I woke up to pee at 2:20 a.m., Gw*en Stef*ani’s Sweet Escape was bumping through my head.  At 2:20 IN THE MORNING.  That is too wakey for that hour.  I had to hum a hymn to help myself back to sleep, you know, a Baptist version or “high church” Methodist version…all five verses.  That’ll make just about anybody nod off.