Tag Archives: pee


A couple days ago, while I was out driving around my new town, trying to figure out where things are and find cheap casserole dishes and maybe a cast iron pan that had been cast-off, I was struck by sudden hunger.  This has become normal.  I often find myself suddenly struck by things.  The need to pee is common as is the urge to drink water and food so it wasn’t terribly shocking. But, the strength with which the urge came upon me was a little amazing.  The dear-father-of-little-creep was with me.  Because we had been living 1000 miles away from each other, he had only heard second hand accounts of this phenomenon. I’m pretty sure he didn’t fully appreciate how insane these needs really are.  He’s been pretty sympathetic with the constant bathroom trips and that when I need to go, I need to go.  Not in five minutes, not in ten, but now.  When I realize I have to pee, we’ve got about 2 minutes to get me to the nearest restroom or wooded area so I can go.  If not, I will suddenly need to sneeze and out it will come and then I still have to pee, but now I’m also sitting in my own quickly cooling urine and that is no fun for anyone. I had not realized the bladder was connected to the nasal cavities, but the proof is in the pudding or the puddle, so to speak if you want to be gross. I do. I want to be gross. I figure, these are the only months in my life when I can be totally disgusting and it’s okay.  It’s not my fault after all.  I am on auto-pilot here. My auto pilot just so happens to be set for course for gross.

Being on pregnancy related auto-pilot isn’t so bad when you are at home, in bed as I was for several months.  I wasn’t prescribed bed rest or anything like that. I’m incredibly healthy and the pregnancy is moving along very smoothly. I just didn’t want to really get up to do anything.  I would only put clothes and make up on because being in pajamas all day made me feel trailer trash and dumpy.  It’s is hard enough looking like humpty dumpty naturally, without exacerbating it with dirty, stretched out pajamas or other such lounge wear.  Also, if I’m wearing pajamas, I’m not wearing a bra and my tits are huge and heavy.  Because gravity doesn’t get weaker during pregnancy I have to keep the girls hoisted up.  It’s not so much an issue with them looking bad now.  They look fine.  I just don’t want them to get used to the stretch and then even when they are not so full of tissue to hang down to my belly  button or have to be lifted to fasten a belt.  Is that petty? Probably, but I’m pretty sure I don’t care.  So, daily, I get up, I brush my teeth, wash my face, do something with my hair and put actual clothing on.

Because I no longer live in a house with two smelly dogs and one cute, little, perfect dog I find my clothing doesn’t get quite so dirty so I can just keep recycling them.  Well, until I splatter bacon grease on them or finally decide the knees have stretched out too much and not look like they belong on elephants and not me. I’m still doing leggings most of the time.  I did wear leggings most of the time before I was pregnant and I see no reason to change that now.  I just wear bigger size leggings.  I would really love some leather leggings but I’m pretty sure $1000 for legging I will wear for just a few more months is maybe a little silly.  They would look hot though. Well, as hot as one can look 6 months preggers or more. Which, pregnancy fetishists aside, isn’t that hot.

When I’m at home, no matter how I’m dressed, I can really push the envelope when it comes to going to the bathroom or eating something because if I went to far, relief is only a second away.  I’ve been known to grab a slice of bread while waiting for my egg and toast to cook or sprint to the bathroom and fling myself on the toilet when I’ve waited a bit too long to relieve myself.  Inevitably, I sneeze halfway there and then I have to sprint while trying to hold my legs apart so I don’t get pee running down my legs. Yeah, that was really gross. Sorry.  But, while out, I don’t have those options.  In order to get some food, I can either go through a drive thu, which I avoid because I really don’t want my infant son to have tits from the phyo-estrogens in the soy products that act as fillers in almost all fast food items or to have digestive problems and behavioral problems from the corn syrup that is in all those items as well.  Best not to start that while I’m still pregnant.  I know I won’t be able to control what he eats his whole life, but while I’m all knocked up and keeping him safe in my belly, I can. Even going to a restaurant takes too much time to get the food on the table.  Hell, finding a parking spot takes too much time. Usually, I carry some sort of starchy something with me all the time.  This, more than anything, makes me feel like I’ve become a mom.  I used to always have a flask with me.  Now I always have a banana or maybe a pack of crackers.  The other day, knowing that I was going to be out all day, I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,  an apple, a banana and a few slices of cheese.

I never used to worry about food.  I was always a non-issue in my life. I ate when I was hungry and more often than not, if I was eating outside the house it was with friends and it was more like picking at the food and gulping down drinks.  I guess those are the changes everyone talks about.  The little creep totally forced me into it.  He’s in  control. He’s the pilot of this ship. I’m just the passenger. No, wait, I’m just the ship.


Chubby Little Hands and Facial Massagers

While the little monster’s dad is dreaming of the kid every night, I’ve only had a couple dreams of the kid so far.  Last night, I dreamt of buying new make up and he dreamt of lounging on the bed with the baby on his chest.  This morning, he went into great detail of the kid’s squishy little face and what it’s hair looked like.  I can imagine that he got to feel what it feels like to have a breathing squishy little creature laying on his chest.  The warm little bundle, cooing in its sleep, maybe occasionally raising its chubby little hand up to its face to wipe its red little cheeks. I can imagine the father looking down and brushing the soft little hairs to the side and taking a deep breath of baby smell in and then kissing its warm little head. I wish I were having dreams like that. Maybe it would make it seem more real.

Don’t get me wrong here, the make up I was trying on in my dream from last night was really cool. It was a new kind of foundation and it was applied with this really neat brush. It was kind of like the new silicone basting brushes that came out a few years ago, but it seemed like the bristles were somehow stiffer and softer at the same time.  When I would rub the brush across my face, not only did the foundation cover perfectly but it also gave a tingly sort of facial massage that was really pleasant.  It really was neat and I’m happy for having that dream as it has stuck with me all day and that is a pretty fun way to start the day.

And yet, somehow, I feel like maybe I should be having dreams about the baby too. I had one the other night, but it wasn’t a baby I dreamt of.  It was a two year old. I got to see what my brain thinks the kid will look like. Super cute by the way.  I wish I was, even a little, skilled at drawing or painting because I would love to commit it to paper in a visual way.  It was a boy. I’m actually willing to bet I will be pooping a boy out in June.  I will find out on the 26th of this month, so we will see if that whole mother’s intuition thing is real or a bunch of mumbo jumbo. The little boy had sandy blonde hair with loose curls and green eyes. It had it’s dad’s nose, and that is totally fine as his father’s nose is not just serviceable but also very pleasing to the eye. He had olive skin and a cute little mouth and relatively high cheek bones. Like I said, he was cute. He was dressed in overalls and a horizontal striped long-sleeved shirt. I think striped shirts are adorable on little boys. I think horizontal striped shirts belong on little boys and nothing makes me want to vomit more than seeing an adult man in a bar wearing one. Usually, guys who wear that sort of shirt are also wearing too much of some horrible cologne. Something like Clear Water or something they sell at Abercrombie and Fitch and I hate them for it.  My little boy, provided it is a little boy, will be raised to not be like that. I realize that sounds crazy, but so be it.

I don’t know why I’m not dreaming about the kid or even really thinking about it all that much. I should be thinking about it more than the dad. Or at least it would make sense that I would be. I am the one carrying it. I see it every day.  I see how my huge midsection has made my legs look super skinny by comparison and I feel the skin stretching and the cantaloup sized growth in my belly. Shouldn’t that be seeping into my subconscious?  Am I blocking it out or is it because I do see it daily that I’m not dreaming about it of fixating on it. Does it make it less fantasy for me somehow? I read on all sorts of blogs and pregnancy sites that by 19 weeks, women are dreaming about their kids every night.  Some dream of mangled kids or their babies dying or car accidents or dog attacks or a million other horrible things.  Others dream about holding their kid and doing daily chores while running around with them. I don’t have any of that. I don’t even dream about shopping for the kid.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t really felt it move yet.  I did have two instances where I felt something but it surely wasn’t the fluttering, gold-fish swimming feeling I read all these other pregnant chicks talk about.  The first time was a couple weeks ago and I rolled over in bed really abruptly and I felt was could best be described as a thunk in my belly.  The next time, I had a really full bladder (per usual) and I also had a really strong desire for the juice of a whole lemon squeezed into a pint glass and mixed with water. It’s kind like lemonade but without the sugar. I’m not real big into sugar. I thought I would make my drink first and then go pee. Provided I didn’t sneeze, I would be fine. Why not sneezing? Oh, well, when I have to pee even a little and then I sneeze, I pee all over myself, like an old lady. Super.  Anyways, I was digging in the fridge looking for the lemons and couldn’t find them.  I had to bend halfway over and look on a lower shelf.  Just as I settled into looking position, I felt a dull thud reverberate through my uterine wall and my bladder. Joy! I ran to the bathroom to keep the pee from running down my leg and onto the floor. So there it was, a kick or a shoulder. That was a couple nights ago. I haven’t felt anything since and I didn’t dream of it that night or in the nights since. I have, strangely, dreamt of lemon water though.

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