Eleven

Photo by Thierry Bouët

We are in the precious remaining last few days before the semester begins. Yesterday I spent sleeping, eating bacon, eggs, and pancakes, and then napping some more. Today, I was a bit more productive. It's hard to predict what I feel like each new day. I am no longer in charge. My body, it seems, will make its own decisions for me from now on. It really is like a bad J Lo rom com.

In other news, who do all these pregnancy books think they are talking to? Decorate the nursery? Dude, that would require a two-bedroom apartment. Start picking out a crib? Uh, don't I have, like, 6 months and a baby shower before I really need to decide on sleeping apparatuses? And don't get me started on all the lame sidebars for Daddy, like, Why not a baby shower for Daddy? and Just for Daddy: Lamaze!  Puke. I know gay couples have been dealing with that shi-ite for centuries. But it's so 1985. C'mon folks! 

It does remind me, however, that I will have my share of explaining to do. My friend's son upon overhearing that I might be pregnant, promptly demanded to know who got me pregnant. Smart ass! Others want to know all about the sperm donor. And still yet, there are some people who know more and some less about exactly how it all came to be. And I kinda need to keep those stories straight. But with all that blood rapidly leaving my brain and travelling south, that I fear, will be a challenge.

So, next week I officially wave goodbye to the first trimester. And I start teaching four classes. I am hoping I can use the pregnancy as an excuse for basically everything, but in particular, for why I just can't seem to stay awake during their groundbreaking films and why I just can't seem to keep up with reading their mind blowing scripts.