Funyons: not so fun on the way back up

2004-08-19

I may or may not have had my first morning sickness related barf session last night. The root cause is still under investigation...

After work, I went to the little butcher shop / grocery store by my house to buy something for dinner. While there, I ended up buying a bag of funyons. Why? I don't know. The spirit moved me. So I ended up eating these funyons once I got home. I, uh, think I might have eaten a few too many. Then Leo got home and I hopped up and pretended like I had been a productive human being for the last two hours and I absolutely had not spent that time sitting on my ass eating funyons and watching TV. So I served him a rather crappy dinner (croque monsieur)* and started loading the dishwasher.

Leo had brought home his tupperware the day before, but it hadn't made the dishwasher cut. So I opened his lunch bag and started emptying the tupperware. There was one container in there that had the remnants of a spinach salad that was unbelievably gross. In the interest of your health and safety I will not describe it further than that, just know that it was really, really gross and smelly.

I spent the next 10 minutes being very, very sick.

Was it the funyons? The salad? or the baby? Probably a combination of the three. I could run a controlled experiment to isolate each of the possible causes, but since that would involve smelling that salad again (and tasting half-digested funyons) I think I'll skip it.


I just had my semi-annual performance evaluation. I guess I'm going to management next year. That may not sound like a big deal. But I'd be the youngest manager in the building (which houses around 2,000 people). So I was all pumped up about that until I remember that I want to stay home with Butter Bean. Bittersweet. Plus I was told of my boss' plans to move me into the Information Security group which contains a lot of people with more experience than me who are not managers (which gives me sick pleasure). Plus it contains the guy (who is a manager) for whom I was a copy girl in my first month here. What satisfaction it would be to work with him as an equal!

I was so worried when I told my boss about the pregnancy that he'd ask me about my plans. He never did and has just assumed that I would continue to work full time. He says that I won't have to travel as much next year, because of the baby. Its too early now to tell him my plans (as they certainly aren't etched in stone) but I'll have to break it to him someday.

I was finally approved for the training class in Florida in November, so I signed up for that. I usually travel to a lot of really crappy Midwestern manufacturing towns with this job, so Florida in November will be a dream. It may even necessitate buying a maternity swimsuit.

Tonight, I am going to a hippy birth seminar on making a birth plan. Having never had a child myself, and having never even been near anyone having a child, my initial ignorant thought is that a birth plan is a total waste of time. I mean, I really doubt that my midwife will be consulting some multi-paged document of my creation during labor. However, I will still go to this seminar thing to see what is what. I am also dying to see how "hippy birth" meshes with "Birmingham", where the class will be held. Papmered liberal prego ladies in expensive terry tracksuits? We'll see.

* Poor Leo has been putting up with some real crap dinners lately. It's not even so much because I don't have the energy for cooking and it doesn't really make me that nauseous to smell it. It's more because I can't get it together mentally to plan out meals, purchase ingredients, and then prepare them. Some step falls through every week. This week, I planned everything out, bought most of the ingredients, but then I lost the recipes and I can't remember why I bought that avocado so Leo ends up eating a ham and cheese sandwich that I've given a French name because I at least have the sense left to be embarrassed at my food prep performance as of late. Poor Leo.

Hey look! Only 199 days left to go...

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