In my attempt to stay awake for the half hour before I go to another session, I shall tell you of my adventures this weekend.  Only one of which is really considered adventurous.

I am old.  And lame.  Therefore, so are my stories.

I needed a new bra, as evidenced by my breasts casting their own shadow.  I should’ve taken heed at Steph’s exclamation “YOU HAVE PORN BREASTS!” when we went walking, but she also said the same thing at month two.  So I kind of attributed her shock to wonder.  As in, “OHMYGOD, I didn’t know people could HAVE those!”

No, when I saw the photographic evidence, it’s that I was being borderline obscene.

But buying a new bra was, like, the final frontier into my admitting that my body is, in fact, getting larger.  Since I got down to my pre-pregnancy weight, I had always been a nice 36C (as Bryan noted, that’s the perfect breast size. Now that I’m pregnant?  I have PREGNANT boobs.. which are, by definition, imperfect.).  So I knew I was grotesque, but I didn’t want to know HOW grotesque.

I went to EVERY store in the mall that I could fathom going into (Hot Topic, for instance, was not graced with my presence) before I finally took a deep breath and wandered into Victoria’s Secret.  Some poor girl asked me if she could help me, and my floodgates opened.

“Yes, you can,” I began.  “IKNOWI’MFATANDI’MPREGNANTANDIDON’TKNOWWHATSIZEIAM.” By now, the tears were flowing pretty freely.

“Well, let’s get you into the back here,” which, I quickly recognized, is what they say to all the crazy people.

Once back there, I admitted that I knew I was probably some hugely ginormous size and she wouldn’t be able to truly tell my size because I poured myself into this itty bitty bra and I’m so sorry.  She just stood there, with the tape around me, and said, “Yeah.. you’re a 36D.  You should probably buy a 38, so you’ll be more comfortable.  But that should take care of you.”

Well.  Make ME feel stupid. (Rightfully so.)

So I got a new bra.  Then, later, the HIGHLIGHT of my weekend: I was talking to Ra on the phone and she said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you since I saw you on the walk the other night.. you’re looking pretty fabulous, you know?”  Awww.. no, I didn’t know.  But now I do.

Last night, I wanted a bell pepper. (Fried pickles, iced tea lemonade, and bell peppers are my cravings.) I also wanted to use my fancy new santuko knives.  You know, like Rachel Ray does.  And, of course, I promptly sliced my index finger to the bone and through the nail bed.  Which, as I mentioned earlier, was the complete SNL skit with Dan Akroyd as Julia Child.  There was blood everywhere, due to the nature of the injury and the pregnancy, and I was home alone.  Bryan suggested super glue.  Mom suggested stitches.  I just held my arm up over my head for an hour and then wrapped that bitch up.

Today, I look mighty fancy in my new bra and my Pirates of the Carribean bandages.

Okay. So I was pissed. (Obviously.) And yes, the original reason I was pissed still stands. But in the short span of time in which I published that and now, I’ve been given four reasons why I don’t let pregnancy get in my way.

• I walked in to greet our visiting assessment team (the reason we’re all in a tailspin this week) and was told by the group, “Well, with a face like that around, the pleasure is all ours.” He followed that up with, “I remember you.. you were the hostess in charge of the offsite we attended.” (I wasn’t.. my coworker was.. when she decided to show up. But they didn’t remember her.)
• I was scurrying around the building to make sure everything was set up for our first meeting of the day, which is typically not a big meeting, but since we have visitors it has been insane. The program manager breezed by me and smiled. He asked how I was doing. My usual response followed: “I’m lovely. How are you?” He smiled back, “Not nearly as lovely as you.” (There are people who work with him daily that don’t get this attention from him.)
• I went downstairs to find my boss as frustrated as I was. This made me happy.. to know that I wasn’t the only one already exhausted. We bitched together for a minute, and then went on our ways. I like being friends with my boss, especially when we both carry our own weight.
• When I came back up, a plate of steaming breakfast food waited at my desk with a note from our caterer that read: “Saved you some scones when I didn’t see you at the chow line. Sometimes the people who are too busy to eat are the people who need it the most.” I was soooo moved.. one, that he remembered how much I LURVE his scones and two, that he found my desk and did that for me.

So I need to quit bitching and just write my preplanned post about buying a new bra and slicing my finger open a la SNL’s Julia Child.

I’m gonna vent for a minute.

It’s a topic that you’ve heard about since day one.. probably even before that, matter of fact.  It’s a topic that I confront on a daily basis, and one that never fails to get under my skin.

Some women see pregnancy an excuse.

I can’t deal with it.  We have a hellified week over here this week, with us spread too short as is.  I stayed late on Thursday and Friday of last week to get everything ready, and even was in this morning by 6:45.  I scheduled our rotations so that everyone had an equal share, and if an extra shift came up, I took it.

I stayed late on Friday because a coworker took vacation, which is fine.  But I ended up having to do my job and her job.  Which, again.. is fine.  But I came in early to do her job, too.. because getting here early is so hard when you’re pregnant, she says.

Yeah.  Yeah, it really fucking is.

Already having been here for almost two hours, I sat back down at my computer and saw something that almost sent me into tears.  She wanted me to switch shifts with her because she had a photo shoot scheduled.  She never told me about it.  So Wednesday has me getting here at 6:45 am to set up, sitting through a three hour session, and then staying to break down the room at 5:30 pm.

Here’s the deal: she’s got seniority over me, even though we’re the exact same level.  And there’s been talk of a promotion.  She has the education, but I’ve put in the work.  And then some.  And at this point, I’m more than willing to fight for her promotion.

Some women see pregnancy as an excuse.  I, however, see it as a gauntlet.  And women who use the excuse of pregnancy make my life that much harder.

Rant concluded.