A recommendation and a little something from the complaints department

First, the complaints department because I loves to complain, especially when the complaint is stupid and petty because it's the stupid, petty things that make you nuts. Am I right?

The advertisement for Everybody Hates Chris on Paramount TV (UK).

Word Up! people this song is obnoxious, is played during every single commercial break, and is ruining any interest I might have had in viewing this show. I now hate Chris. I hate him. And I will not watch the show. Ever. Word up.

And now a little something from the lazy preggo book recommendation department.

I loved The Exception by Christian Jungersen. I loved it.



If you have ever been in a toxic work environment, and, hello, who hasn't, this will ring more than a few bells. (And if you haven't, let me tell you right now, we just can't be friends.) The twist is that this particular work environment is the Danish Center for Information on Genocide. Hmm. You would think people who research such a subject would be less inclined to victimize their office mates. You know, become perpetrators themselves. It is a fascinating twist to the generic mystery genre. Is there such a thing as being good or evil? Or. Depending on circumstance, are we all capable of being both?

Interesting.

Lazy preggo out. Naptime!

Freschetta really is betta...

...but my husband insists on buying Tombstone. Mwah?

I've managed to choke down my rage and eat it anyway. But, this, this is what I long for....

Actually. If pressed, the store bought pizza of my dreams is Dr. Oetker, first discovered in Bosnia at my little corner shop.



Do they even sell this in the States? They do in England, at British prices, mind you, which is why I have turned to Freschetta bought at the American military base at sane American prices.

Ah, pizza. My preggo meal of choice. I never get tired of eating it. I never throw it up. Bonus and...bonus.

Book recommendations for the week

The upside of being laid up with pregnancy and living on your couch is the time you can spend reading novel after delicious novel, which is what I'm doing.

But, you know what's also fun?

Making your husband go out to your local grocery store (because your local bookstore is sold out) and buy the latest Harry Potter. What's funnier still is that said husband bought the book and a bottle of wine, making the cashier think that said husband would be snuggling down with the latest HP and a glass of Rose, even though the two purchases were not at all connected. "Have a nice evening with your Harry Potter, sir!" This embarrassed him to no end and has given me much amusement.

Anyhoo.

I can highly recommend the latest HP, and I have no shame in saying that I am sad that there will be no more books to come. My inner child has delighted in rediscovering (or discovering) young adult books I didn't know existed when I was actually a young adult. As a much harassed social work student stumbling around the Young Adult section of B&N for sanity (yes, I stroll the Young Adult section for sanity), I found The Dark is Rising, a wonderful tonic for frayed nerves. His Dark Materials? Totally awesome. I am, unashamedly, a lover of good young adult fiction and fantasy, as I feel they feed the big kid in this grown-up. There's a sense of magic and majesty and possibility one has as a child, isn't there? I like to think the inner child is something that can be nourished, so it never has to die or fade. Isn't that nice? (At this point, the huz would be gagging about, "Oh, isn't that precious?" But, clearly, he has lost his inner child to his inner curmudgeon, so we will pay him no nevermind.)

As for true grown-up books, I can highly recommend Cormac McCarthy's, The Road. It was beautiful and frightening. I cried throughout, finished it, and cried some more. Which has given me a bit of a headache, if you must know, and has left me with enough energy to say just that before I sign off and take another much needed preggo nap.

I am ever so pregnant. And, by the way, the first trimester sucks. It suuucks.

When the husbo and I decided to "get knocked up" as he so delicately put it, I figured we'd have months before anything happened. It only takes minutes when you're a 17 year-old virgin on prom night, but it takes blood, sweat, tears, and insider ovulation information when you're actually trying. So I thought.

Anyhoo, turns out I am fertile, and I found out in early June that I was preggers. Two weeks later, I went from having no preggo symptoms at all to major flu-like fatigue, minus the flu.

It is amazing how little you are prepared for the first trimester, or, really, how little you can prepare. A tried and true hypochondriac with irritable bowel and a wonky stomach, I naturally assumed my Achilles heel would be vomiting. So. I did all my research on morning sickness and B6 and ginger tea, only to find that I was not a vomiter. Nope. Mildly nauseous, yes. Puking, no.

So, for those of you newbie preggos, I've put together a little list-y of all my first trimester obstacles that were so daunting. Yes, I'm going to say "were" because I'm in my 12th week, and I have high hopes that my fatigue will disappear in much the same way my flu-like symptoms did. Now, this is my list of uglies. Yours will differ, I'm sure, as that is the curse of the preggo. No two pregnancies are alike and no matter of planning will save you.

1. I am tired. So-ooo tired. I get up, make breakfast. Nap. I walk the dog. Nap. I write an email. Nap. I've had to stop working because I nap so much. "Excuse me, Ms. Employer, ma'am, but it's time for my two and a half hour nap. I'll see you at 4. I'm sure you understand."

2. The only thing worse than the nausea, and it's a close call here, was the perpetual flu-like symptoms. I can only describe it as that all over icky-body feel you get before being socked by the flu. It was hell, but it appears to be over. (Please, God, please, please, please...)

2. What they say about food cravings and aversions seem to be true, in the sense that, yes, I have had both. Despite the emphasis on healthy eating, I can't imagine anything more disgusting than green vegetables, olives, peppers, or onions. They give me gas, and they taste bad on the way back up. (Oh yes, lovely visual there.) If I ever wanted to throw up with this pregnancy, I'd throw a handful of black olives down my throat and wait for the excitement to begin. I can only seem to choke down white bread (something I had stopped eating years ago in favor of the healthy grainy kind) and other similarly simple carbohydrates. But somehow I still have room for pizza. Greasy, pepperoni laden pizza. And, McDonald's, where are you in this East Anglian wilderness? I want a Big Mac.

3. Because my baby-to-be has taken my body and my diet over To The Darkside, I have had to count on good old Pregnacare to see to my body's needs. I am of a strong suspicion that these supercharged vitamins are responsible for my mid to late afternoon nausea. But I can't stop taking them. I think they may be the sole nutritious thing I eat in the course of a day. Except for the vitamin fortified cereals and ovaltine. Good ol' ovaltine.

4. Oh, the constipation has been a bitch, too. I am nothing if not regular (or was) but since the onset of pregnancy, I have seen two days go by sans bowel movement. I have tried citrucel, but that leaves me even more bloated and gassy. And I'm not even going to go into what "even more" means in this case. Suffice to say, I cradle my angry belly at night, not to commune with my still pea-sized shape child, but to soothe the rumbles in the tumbles.

5. Thank GOD, I was healthy and in shape before this pregnancy began. Something I'd recommend to every preggo-to-be, btw. My fitness routine has taken a serious dive. I mean, if I'm wiped after an email, how can I possibly sit on a bike for a measly half-hour of cycling? Short answer, I can't. Or, I do try, on occasion, like three times a week, and then sleep for two hours after.

6. My skin, particularly around my mouth, chin, and nose, has dried out to the point of being red and rashy. I have a little red ring around my mouth and nose. It is not pretty, and it can't be moisturized away...

7. But, frankly, that has bothered me little compared to everything else. The "everything else" is what makes me feel icky and gross and unattractive all over.

8. Can I just say that I am floored that, after one pregnancy, there are women who want more children. Maybe, the joy stupefies you into thinking that everything that went on in the previous months was actually honky dory. Is this what happens? Stupefication? I shall have to be on the lookout for this, as I think one child is enough for me...

If I have any more, they will have to be adopted.