From a coworker who trains for marathons: female track-runners and marathon runners statistically improve their time significantly after pregnancy.  Isn’t that bizarre?  And amazing?

Uh.. so.. Bryan, what kind of pizza did we buy?

29 days.  And counting.

Last night could not have been more needed in my world; I needed to be in a room of diverse, funny, women.  It’s like Book Club on acid.  I had forgotten what awe and reverence and humor and respect lay in those monologues; I was brought to tears on more than one occasion.  And it wasn’t the hormones.

If you’re interested in participating with The Vagina Monologues this year, please email me for more information.  The director will be holding smaller auditions throughout the month to fill out the cast.  It’s for a great cause and it’s a lot of fun.  And though you should not need an excuse, it’s my yearly permission slip to use the “c” word profusely.

I auditioned with the piece My Angry Vagina, which was therapeutic in many ways.  You have no idea how angry a nine-month-pregnant vagina truly is.

It reminded me when I got home.  I went into a TERRIBLY hormonal funk, one that was not cured by a bubble bath or my best body lotions or even hair-rubbing.  As stupid as it sounds, there are times when you just feel so alone being pregnant.  You’re tired of suffering, and then you feel guilty for suffering, and then you feel angry because why should you feel guilty?, and then you can’t sleep but you’re so tired, and then you’re hungry but eating makes you ill ..

And all of this is a thrice-daily occurrance.  So bitching about it feels repetitive and martyrish.  So you just count down the days and pray.

29 days.  And counting.