Kovixen

Yesterday I find out that yes, I am officially pregnant. Yesterday was also the day that Jesus happened to be my cashier at Panera Bread. Jesus is a female it turns out, wearing a pink Locoste shirt that was a little too short and dark jeans. I certainly wouldn't have pegged him (her?). I think that Jesus decided to visit me again, this time in person, to congratuate me on the pregnancy. If you will recall, he emailed me a few months ago. I am very lucky, I don't think Jesus is this prominent in most people's lives.

My mother thought that I was pregnant after I described to her how I was tired, and a different tired than ever before. Usually when I am tired I am unable to do anything besides sleep, I'm a total waste. But with this tired I felt (and still do feel) like I could rally through it and clean the entire house or write 80 posts on shirt snob or climb up the Eifel Tower. What really clinched the pregnancy in my mom's eyes though was how much I hated Wedding Crashers. This is a movie I should have loved. Great story, great actors, great reviews from people I trust. And yet it blew. Like, I had to force myself to laugh. It had none of those moments where you are laughing so hard you can't laugh, not even close. I walked out of the movie theatre so disappointed. And my mother knew that wasn't right, Laura doesn't not like movies without a good reason.

Mommy found me a link to the Chinese Gender Chart, which says I'm going to have a boy. I knew that I would. I have always thought about girls because I am a girl and understand them, and I think that's why I didn't get pregnant before, because the universe wanted to send me a boy and I was resisting. Once I stopped resisting, I get pregnant, hence the boy in my belly. I've signed up for iVillage (which is so confusing I think I need a class on it) and Web MD and all these others sites so I can track my baby's development. So far I know that I am 4 weeks and 2 days into my pregnancy according to when my last period was and not according to when my child was actually conceived (that was about 2 1/2 weeks ago). My due date is April 17. I prefer birthdays earlier in the month because then I won't forget them. However, I forget birthdays at the beginning of the month because it comes up so suddenly. So, there is no good birthday for my child, I'll have to deal with that.

Peter is starting to really think hard about my diet for the next 9 (10) months, being that he is also my chef, not only my sugar daddy. We were talking about nutrients and protein and all that stuff (and who would have thought I'd actually miss and crave tofu-I can't wait to have some), and Peter told me I should try eating fish. I have only had fish once in my life, and that was fish sticks during my annual family reunion when I was in elementary school. I found them totally disgusting then, and I never wanted it again. You would think being from New England and living by the coast I would appreciate seafood, but you'd be wrong. I find anything that comes from the water totally inedible. I think this is because my mother never fed me fish, so this is the base of my not eating them. However, I have since developed fish issues, now to be called fishues. Going back throughout my life, I believe these fishues came from dead fish floating in the fishbowl growing up. I had to walk by the fish to enter and leave the bedroom and bathroom area, so this was quite often. One day, we bought about 10 fish from the local pet store that had been tested on. They promised that all the fish were fine though. We bring them home, put them in the tank, and within the next three days all the fish we had (over 20) died. There were multiple floaters, and I totally got freaked out by their dead bulging black eyes staring at me, promising to jump out of the tank and get me. I shiver just thinking about them.

Jump forward to college. My roommate wants me to feed her fish while she's away for a few days. I agree because I'm nice, but I really didn't want to. I go in after a day to go feed them (we had cubbies, aka wall spaces that we slept in, because we were cool and got the cool rooms). I start to feed the fish when I notice one is sort of floating near the top. I look closer, and part of the fish is missing. The other fish had eaten it. I totally freak out, scream as loud as I can, and get tangled in the curtain at the entrance to the cubbie. When I get out I run down the hallway to the other end and sit on the stairs and try to calm down. My sister Kara comes out of her room and calms me down and did something with the fish to make it all better, which I really appreciated. But that was totally awful.

I have many other traumatizing fishue stories, but that's enough for now. As you can see, I don't like fish, so when Peter asked me to eat them, I told him he was off his rocker and made him get ready for work. Nothing in this world could make me eat fish. Nothing at all. Ok, maybe my child could, but no way in hell am I actually going to consider that until something bad happens, like the doctor tells me I need to eat fish or else my baby will die, or something equally bad.

In closing, did you know that the plural of vagina is vaginae? Neither did I.