Peaches and Braflix

Okay, so it's been a while. You might wonder where I've been -- the truth is, I actually found a job, decided to go back to grad school, and got knocked up all within the span of about three months, so I've been busy. Really, really, busy. What, you might ask, could bring me out of blog semi-retirement during pregnancy-induced narcolepsy, full time work schedule, and over-read, over-written grad student status? Two things, actually: 1) the return of the Real Housewives of Atlanta (see previous post); and 2) some of the strange things that I've learned happen when you're pregnant -- both of which are just too good not to share. (And the insomnia I have clearly helps, too.) Here goes nothing...

We rejoin the cast of the Real Housewives right where they left off: in the middle of a hot mess. If you need a refresher on the characters, see previous post Coming out of the Closet. It appears that the philanthropically-challenged, but good-intentioned, DeShawn Snow has not rejoined us for the inevitable train wreck that will ensue this season -- she was sweet, but oh-so-boring. That being said, she will be missed if only for her charity fund-depleaters and her unique pronunciation of the word "jewelry" that sounds like she's picking out a "jury". Farewell, sweet DeShawn. There is a new addition: Kandi Burruss, who allegedly is a successful pop songwriter and singer; although her speaking voice sounds faintly reminiscent of a person who has had their nose stopped up with a clothespin and has been administered a mild dose of horse tranquilizer. Kandi does look like she could probably put someone in a half-Nelson and induce paralysis in about ten seconds if really pushed to her limit and so I have high hopes for actually seeing that happen this season. I would be remiss if I didn't mention some other new "additions": our friend Kim has clearly scored a new wig and set of breasts for the occasion, so I'm sure that the season will not dissapoint. We join the 'wives in process of a semi-shakeup: perennial frenemies Sheree and NeNe have reconciled and somehow Kim, in this high stakes game of musical chairs, is the only one who has no friends at the time. Clearly Lisa's promise to "flip [her] over the couch" hasn't quite been forgotten by either party and somehow her old-new BFF Sheree has dropped Kim as fast as the first samples of She by Sheree. Kim's attempt to "clear the air" with Sheree and NeNe resulted in a screaming and hair-pulling match, the completion of which I much look forward to in the third episode. So that's where we are with them, now here's where we are with me...

My body has been invaded by aliens. I am five months pregnant and part of my insomnia is due to the fact that I'm simply so uncomfortable that I can't sleep at all. Nothing about me belongs to me anymore. I was a vegan, work-out-obsessed marathon runner 4 months ago -- I'm still all of those things, but I feel as if someone has taken an air pump and inflated me -- particularly up top. I've always had a semi-flat chest, which has made exercise much more comfortable than it has been in recent weeks. Somehow in the span of 3 months, I went from a 32B to a 34DD. For those of you who are used to being big bosomed, I'm sure you might laugh at me, but for those of us who have not been so blessed, getting a visit from the Titty Fairy on a seemingly daily basis is slightly disconcerting. As if I don't have enough to keep me busy on the weekends with my rigorous school schedule, I have to add buying new bras to the agenda on at least a bi-monthly basis. Once this whole ordeal is done, I'm trying to figure out what to do with this collection of monster brasierres: I could save them for alien invasion round two if I can ever handle it; donate them to other needy large-chested women; be "green" and recycle them for use as sun-bonnets; or burn them in a hippie-like ritual when I am finally liberated back to my prepregnancy size and occassional bralessness (so not an option right now). Some of my bras I have only worn once before outgrowing them -- once! This is not only annoying, but it's getting expensive. Women share prom dresses, work outfits, and even maternity clothes -- what we really need is a cute little service like Netflix for bras: Somewhere that pregnant women can send outgrown almost-new merchandise and receive something newish that fits until they need to return it for the next size up? Seriously -- they should have a program where you can choose the one-bra-a-month plan, the multiple-bras-a-month plan, etc. I would gladly invest $9 or $10 a month for 9 months in order to have mildly happy boobs rather than constantly forking over $20-$40 a pop for something that will only fit me for two weeks. Until there is such a thing as "Braflix" (perhaps my next project after I'm done with gradschool if no one else does it for me), I'm going to have to suffer with the 24/7 sports bra and all of the unfortunate fashion choices that come with accommodating racerbacks in bright colors with a Nike swoosh emblasoned across the top.

Shopper's Shoulder

Welcome back, friends. It's been a while. I've returned to the working world and am actually really enjoying my new job. However, I've suffered an unfortunate demise since last we met. I've been officially (self) diagnosed with Shopper's Shoulder. Not Tennis Elbow, not Golfer's Wrist, not Runner's Knee (or Runner's High, unfortunately). Shopper's Shoulder. It is a repetitive stress injury incurred from the cumulative impact of overhead motion required for trying on clothes. If I were lifting weights or doing anything else that required substantial arm motion, it might be a more difficult diagnosis. I might actually consider consulting a professional. But this is a total gimme:

1) I have shoulder pain

2) when I lift my arm

3) and the major post-Christmas sales just ended

You see what I mean? Who needs an MD -- it's just plan logic. The truly perplexing thing is this: What's been keeping me injury free through so many previous shopping seasons? How did I survive so many years of Last Call without needing rehab in the off season (also known as the period of time after a major purchase when I let the smoke from my credit card cool off)? I'm trying to pinpoint the moment when things really went south, but these things tend to be cumulative. It's been building over time. And now here I sit. Just getting used to being 30. Getting in the swing of the new job. Preparing for Mardi Gras. And just when you think things are perfect -- bam! Layed up with Shopper's Shoulder.

The Sound of Silence

Six years ago, when my husband and I were first dating, I offered to accompany him on a grocery shopping trip to Winn Dixie just because I wanted to spend as many hours in a day with him as possible. And on said grocery shopping excursion, I even pretended that his love of Kraft cheese singles, Hormel Chili, and Lucky Charms (likely to be consumed in the same day) wasn't completely revolting. When he left town (for an agonizing 48 hours), I would sleep over at his empty apartment because it made me feel like I missed him a little less -- it's embarrassing to say that out loud. How things change...

My husband just left town for two weeks and the liberating feeling is indescribable. It's bliss. I'm not saying that I won't be glad when he returns; I'm just saying that I am very much enjoying:

1) not having to devise covert operations for smuggling newly purchased goods in the front door to avoid a "how much did that cost" inquiry;

2) having total control over the television and not being subjected to endless hours of political talk shows;

3) sweet talk to my dog (a/k/a the only perfect man in my life) without ridicule;

4) keeping the house squeeky clean and tidy;

5) girls' night in, girls' day out, girls' night out, etc.;

6) being able to make whatever I want for dinner without having someone call my vegan food disgusting (which takes a lot of nerve coming from someone who has devolved from Kraft cheese slices to generic processed cheese slices);

7) not sharing my king size bed and being able to ALWAYS find a cool spot -- and enjoying four pillows instead of two;

8) being able to fall asleep in the dark rather than under the glow of husband's reading lights and with the sound of a newspaper or the pages of a book;

9) not nagging; and

10) watching Girls Just Want to Have Fun while playing hours of internet Scrabble -- enjoying 1980s kitch while indulging in dorky online board games would never be possible in a million years if I wasn't enjoying total solitude.

Fourteen days. Half a month. And it's mine .....aalllllll miiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnneeee!!