So Bryan is taking me out tonight, a sort-of farewell dinner and a pre-Mother’s Day dinner.  It’s weird that Mother’s Day now applies to me.  That’s very, very odd.  Because even if you’re a stepmother, you’re not a mother.  It’s just not the same.  But now I have something living inside of me. (Admittedly, it kinda creeps me out.)

Anyway, back to stuff that doesn’t give me goosebumps: dinner.  I have NO idea where to go.  My stomach is just so finicky that I only know a few places are guaranteed to please.  Surin is a safe bet.  PoBoy’s is a safe bet.  But we eat there ALL THE TIME.  Shouldn’t this be special?

(Sidenote: has anyone seen commericals for the new scary flick, Bug?  OHMYGOD, looks amazing.  Has Ashley Judd in it [whom I've been compared to.. he must've been drunk], and it’s about bugs that live inside of you.  Yes, I’m still thinking about that.)

Ask me what I’m hungry for.  I’m going to tell you a tuna melt from Brewbaker’s or fruity chicken salad on a croissant from Clementine’s.  Because THAT’S ALL I EVER WANT.  And those places don’t do dinner.

If there’s one thing about this whole baby-makin’ thing that I could do without, it’s definitely the way it has shaken my appetite.  I used to love food.  Remember those days?  When I would write entire posts about what we had for dinner?  Now, I can’t even put the food away after we’ve eaten, because the sight of what I just digested makes me ill.  I cooked the other night, and while I usually LOVE my own cooking, watching all of the ingredients combine made me sick.  I had to force myself to eat it.  I HAD TO FORCE MYSELF TO EAT FOOD.  It was worth repeating.

So Bryan’s taking me out tonight.  It may very well end up being Chick Fil A followed by Brusters, but we’re going out.  It’s Mother’s Day, damnit.

This made me cry.  Good can come out of bad, if we let it.

I’m gonna take a second to bitch here about something that is COMPLETELY my fault.  It’s my bed, and I’m lying in it, but it doesn’t mean it sucks any less.

I HATE not being pregnant at work.

It’s not a selfish thing, like, “Man, I wish everyone would coddle me and only talk about my baby 24/7″, cause it’s not.  I’m not like that about ANYTHING.  I didn’t even tell anyone at this new job I was getting married, because I didn’t want every conversation to be about the damn wedding.  I feel the exact same way about the baby.

It’s more like.. this is a physical thing, and I need to be able to slack off physically.  I’m not gonna avoid work and say that I can’t stuff binders because I’m pregnant, but I would like to be able to call in sick (as I did yesterday) with a valid excuse.  Yesterday morning, I was spotting and was nauseous, so I stayed home.  But since I’m not pregnant at work, I said I had a migraine.

And I want to be able to wear straight-up maternity clothes to work.  Wearing baggy clothes just makes me look frumpy.  I hear so many pregnant women say that they’re ready to look pregnant instead of just fat, and I’m just the opposite.  When you’re hiding, fat is the easy way out.

But mostly, I wouldn’t mind a bit of accolades every now and again.  I fly out tomorrow for a week’s worth of reviews out in California, and it’s gonna be a hellish week of 12-14 hour days and lots of on-my-feet time and blech.  AND I CAN’T DRINK.  So it just sucks.  Compounding the suckiness?  The only flight back I could get is a red-eye on Wednesday night.  Blech.  And today, someone dared call it a “boondoggle” (a trip an employee takes just to get out of town.. no real work).  I swallowed my anger.  Dude, I would rather sit here at home in my comfortable house wearing clothes that actually fit me than travel for nine hours on a plane.

ARGH.

That’s all.  The end of bitching. (for now)