The weirdest thing about being pregnant is not the fact that I am starting to resemble a Weeble more than my usual 100 pound self or that all my 1950s sundresses don't fit or that my boobs have finally risen from their pre-teen state. It's the smells. At first I couldn't stand the smell of coffee, but I've since gotten over that and have a cup every morning (stop looking at me like that.) And there was a time that I made Doug eat his nightly treat of peanut butter on bread on the floor of our bedroom at least eight feet away from me. But now, it has escalated to "other things." Like our neighbor's stinky perfume which permeates our hallway. How do you tell someone they smell like an old lady (especially when there are an old lady?) I've tried gagging loudly outside of her door, but it doesn't seem to work.
One of my pet peeves has always been carpeted restaurants. The stink factor is just too great. And now that I have a human being growing inside of me? Well, you can imagine what's it like going out to dinner with me. (Scenario: we walk into a place, sit down, I take a sniff and before Doug can pick up the menu, we are out of there, me waving my hands around the air as if I just didn't care.) It hadn't really gone beyond that. Until this past weekend....
Going to a country house sounds so good, doesn't it? Fresh air, woods, quiet. Yeah, I wanted all of that as well as a dip in the pool. I should've seen the foreshadow on Thursday though when I went looking for a bathing suit. Since nothing fits me the same way anymore -- or at all, I attempted, (unsuccessfully) to try and find something, anything, to swim in. No luck. Too small for maternity clothes, too large for boys swim trunks. Dang it, I'd wear my underwear -- I didn't care.
So we get to the place and it's lovely. And the people are lovely. And boy, does it feel good not to hear workers drilling outside of your window (Brooklyn is just so quiet. Do you know what "brownstone neighborhood" means? It means CONSTANT RENOVATION ALL AROUND YOU.) However, as I tried to take a nap before dinner, it hit me. That ol' country aroma. You know, regular country smells that people go to the country for in the first place. Throw in some mildew, humidity, a spider in the bathroom, a cranky pregnant lady, and my old friend nausea and guess who couldn't sleep all night? (and wouldn't let her husband sleep either.) I'm sure if I wasn't pregnant I only would have complained a little (YEAH RIGHT.) But here I am with child (I plan to use this excuse for as long as I can) and I just couldn't breathe. I could actually taste the country and it was making me go all vomity! Mommie! (Yes, we left the next day and I slept for 12 straight hours that night.)
I know. It'll be interesting to actually have a baby when I'm the one acting an infant. How will that work, do you think?
One of my pet peeves has always been carpeted restaurants. The stink factor is just too great. And now that I have a human being growing inside of me? Well, you can imagine what's it like going out to dinner with me. (Scenario: we walk into a place, sit down, I take a sniff and before Doug can pick up the menu, we are out of there, me waving my hands around the air as if I just didn't care.) It hadn't really gone beyond that. Until this past weekend....
Going to a country house sounds so good, doesn't it? Fresh air, woods, quiet. Yeah, I wanted all of that as well as a dip in the pool. I should've seen the foreshadow on Thursday though when I went looking for a bathing suit. Since nothing fits me the same way anymore -- or at all, I attempted, (unsuccessfully) to try and find something, anything, to swim in. No luck. Too small for maternity clothes, too large for boys swim trunks. Dang it, I'd wear my underwear -- I didn't care.
So we get to the place and it's lovely. And the people are lovely. And boy, does it feel good not to hear workers drilling outside of your window (Brooklyn is just so quiet. Do you know what "brownstone neighborhood" means? It means CONSTANT RENOVATION ALL AROUND YOU.) However, as I tried to take a nap before dinner, it hit me. That ol' country aroma. You know, regular country smells that people go to the country for in the first place. Throw in some mildew, humidity, a spider in the bathroom, a cranky pregnant lady, and my old friend nausea and guess who couldn't sleep all night? (and wouldn't let her husband sleep either.) I'm sure if I wasn't pregnant I only would have complained a little (YEAH RIGHT.) But here I am with child (I plan to use this excuse for as long as I can) and I just couldn't breathe. I could actually taste the country and it was making me go all vomity! Mommie! (Yes, we left the next day and I slept for 12 straight hours that night.)
I know. It'll be interesting to actually have a baby when I'm the one acting an infant. How will that work, do you think?
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