Don't do it, ladies, until you talk to me.

Sooooooo, I'm all knocked up. I know that all of the folks that read this blog already know that, so I'm not sure why I said that, except to explain why I have been such a lame-ass blogger lately. I don't want to be one of those people who tells LIES about how wonderful pregnancy is, and how blessed you feel to be carrying a human life (trust me, it's not a privilege, after meeting some of my students' parents I think there should be licenses involved). The truth is, "Flipper" (nickname given thanks to Rick's reaction to first ultrasound) is sucking the life force out of me. What a parasite! It makes me want to throw up half of the time, and the other half, I want to eat everything (grapes today, and grape juice), only to feel like throwing up soon after. I can't even look at the pizza in the fridge (insert gurgly "ew" noise).

So if I EVER go into that mom crap (I told Rick to beat me over the head should I call myself a "mommy"), know that I probably am feeling better. Because right now, I can't even look at babies or people who are really into being supermoms. Sorry, breeders, I know I'm joining your ranks, but don't expect me to wear a "baby on board" t-shirt when I look like I swallowed a large salad bowl (which would be a symptom of a condition called pica, meaning I'm not getting enough minerals... that condition can also cause me to eat paper, which would be funny).