Twelve hours. At work. On a Saturday. (and this time I'm collecting overtime for it!)
I got locked in the garage once, then locked out of the garage, at 8pm, hours past naptime.
There was chaos, a cameraman, soundguy, "gaffergirl", director extraordinaire, actors, extras, and my beloved playing gopher.
I learned all sorts of new terms. Comically, everytime gaffergirl announced that she was "sparking!", everyone would dutifully look away, except me -- who would look up to clarify what she'd just said (again), and got eyefuls of blinding set lights.
I had an uproarious blast. :D
On Sunday we inaugurated what I've been secretly calling (I should probably tell the attendees) the "breakfast club" -- my personal collection of slowly-turning-morning-people friends, who have each in turn announced their confusion/chagrin at finding themselves awake pre-9am with no one to talk to or brunch with for hours -- and too much to do in the afternoons to see anyone!
Coincidentally, everyone we've been moping about not seeing have all turned morning-productive too. He. Heh. Hehehehehehe. (it's all part of my eeevil plan)
The blueberry-buttermilk pancake recipe has been perfected (a dash of coffee added to the batter turned them too fluffy to be imagined), and a plate-ful of farm-fresh peaches and pears rounded out the hypercaffeinated (even I had half a cup as a 'treat', after four months caffeine-free) and jovial table.
We spent the afternoon browsing a 'local' (local like Westmount is to NDG) baby-gear shop, and the uber-materialism of babyhood point was further driven home. Yes, the store is filled with whimsy, colour, and convenience, but gods I don't want to spend every one of my weekends being patronized into buying crap "or I'll be a bad/un-granola/environment-hating/anti-attachment mother". Somehow granola to me just doesn't mean "buy more", rather it means "consume less"...
Of course, my reaction may be particularly strong this time around due to yesterday's onslaught of fatigue, and collection of pregnancy symptoms that I was just starting to get arrogant about having avoided.
So far the constipation nightmare has been restricted to one evening of discomfort before I fully implemented the "more water/add prunes" trick (although I know full well more of it will be coming next trimester), and thought that the "gods it's hot in here" connundrum had eluded me completely.
Here I was spending my time telling everyone how "I'm finally not feeling chilled all the time, this extra body heat stuff is just making me feel 'not cold'", and then yesterday, kaboom, it was a three bath night.
And the hip-joint achiness that I figured my hips were too padded to feel? Last night I think I switched hips (gingerly) at least a dozen times.
And the overall verdict?
When I walked into work this morning and two of the girls squealed "look how big you are already!"
Allllll thems complaints disappeared entirely from my mind.
The second ultrasound is this afternoon, this evening is attempts at french/italiano cuisine (sans pasta, chicken stuffed with garlic, goat cheese and spinach, steamed veggies and buttery potatoes) and tomorrah...
...is my first major presentation (in the big shiny boardroom) since I started showing. Should be interesting... How many people are going to look at my animated face, and how many are going to get distracted by belly?