What’s the homeopathic remedy for insomnia + playing morbid tragedy scenarios over and over again in my head? Hint: it’s not coffee cruda.
I wish I could say this is a new thing, but it’s not. I’ve always done it. I think the Isabel thing is kicking my maternal anxiety into high gear.
In other news, my boobs are gi-normous. For those of you who hate me: You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve grown out of all my pants already. Whoops! Did I forget to mention something to the Internet?
Hey, Internet! I’m pregnant! And if you’re reading this with your jockeys in a wad because we didn’t tell you over the phone and you aren’t a parent of one of us, then suck it up. We haven’t had a chance to get on the phone and announce to the world, plus isn’t this so much more fun? If you are one of my siblings and you’re finding out this way it’s because you ALL SUCK at keeping in touch and you never return phone calls or emails. Except you, E. I’m sure you’d return my calls if I ever got my shit together to pick up the phone. Family full of misanthropes = reading about people’s pregnancies on the Internet and lonely Christmases.
