There are a few different kinds of sleepers in the world. There are those that can sleep through anything (my sister-in-law), there are those who when they hear something out of the ordinary jump out of bed without even thinking and are in the next room before they wake up (my brother-in-law), there are those who will yell at the distraction (ie. cat) who is in the next room (my mom), and there are those who will remove the distraction without making a sound or even really waking up (me). Last night the cats were playing on the bed while we were sleeping. Specifically, Nybbles had brought up a mouse toy that she was chasing around, and Tych was trying to kill her. Most people would probably either ignore them or yell at them to stop. But not me, oh no, I sit straight up in bed, push the cats off the bed, grab the toy and shove it under my pillow. This prevents the cats from getting the toy, and the cats are now off the bed and I can go back to sleep – mission accomplished. Well, last night, I could have sworn that she had about four mice in the bed, and that I had scooped them all up and put them under my pillow. Low and behold, there was only one mouse toy under my pillow this morning. I must have either been seeing double (quadruple?) or dreaming last night, because there’s no way that the mice could have disappeared from under my pillow. I felt a little crazy waking up, but at least I wasn’t dreaming about what I was hearing on the radio (I hate that).
I got a wonderful gift yesterday – my Mary Kay director brought me a bunch of her old maternity clothes from last year. Yay! I was very excited to get this, as I have been lamenting the fact that I have four shirts and four pairs of pants. While it is sometimes helpful (“I really need this honey, I only have four pairs of pants!”), it was also a royal pain in the arse. So I am now the proud owner of six pairs of pants, four skirts, and multitudes of tops. I even got an ugly pink sweater that I will wear, because I only have one other sweater that fits right now.
Someone asked me yesterday if I loved being pregnant, and I didn’t really know how to respond. I was lucky that it was a friend who asked, so I could give an honest answer, but I had to think about it. I’m not all giddy with happiness all the freaking time and I don’t run around talking to my baby about how excited I am to be pregnant. Neither do I loathe my body in this shape nor feel like I’m in the worst health I have ever been in. I think I feel kind of ambivalent towards it all. Does that make me a bad person? I am happy that I am preggo – it’s something that I’ve wanted for a really long time. I’m not jumping for joy, but neither am I totally freaked out and upset. I guess I just view it as “part of life” and not this great huge miracle wonderment thing that everyone makes it out to be. I need a bit of a reality check – are these normal feelings?