There is a boredom that sets in toward the end of pregnancy that has a certain powerless restlessness to it that is really disconcerting.
I’m too exhausted and huge to do anything physically productive, be on my feet for any length of time or run errands, not to mention the heat in the valley right now is preventing my doing any of that anyway. It has become abundantly clear in recent months that I am just not cut out for a sedentary lifestyle. I am starting to go nuts and it is strictly due to lack of physical activity.
My brain doesn’t work so great due to being hyperfocused on the impending arrival in the weeks to come, so getting any kind of meaningful work done is out of the question.
I am sick of reading about baby stuff. There is just too much information out there, much of it conflicting, and it starts to get annoying after awhile. My usual pleasure of reading and researching something I care about is squashed because it has just gotten to be too much, dammit! I have decided I will be largely relying on motherly instinct and that will have to suffice since you just cannot possibly know everything there is to know about parenting.
I can’t even take that much pleasure in pigging out anymore since there is not much room in my stomach for anything, so any would-be oinkfest is over before it even begins.
Add to this the fact that I am SICK TO DEATH of everything on TV. Even movies. Even indie movies. I have seen them all (some repeatedly) or tried to see them and determined they were unwatchable.
Enter Chained Heat.
Have you ever seen this movie? With Linda Blair? How this gem of a confection missed my Awesome Bad Movie Radar is anyone’s guess. It was on one of the movie channels on a recent quiet evening at home (WTF am I talking about – every evening is a quiet evening at home) and was enough to jolt me out of my jaded I Hate TV But Am Too Tired To Do Anything Else stupor.
Imagine chicks in prison, in the early 80s, none of whom has any acting skill whatsoever. Imagine this prison being corrupt, where the warden has a hot tub in his office and videotapes himself having sex with prisoners. Imagine that in this prison, a can of Aqua Net, rattail comb and buckets of purple eyeshadow are standard issue upon entry. Imagine the shower scenes in this prison involving full-frontal shots of not only boobies that are subject to the laws of gravity, but massive amazon jungle bush action. Imagine Linda Blair being all pouty and pissy and complaining to the warden about the way she is treated in the prison. Now imagine all this with horribly choreographed fight scenes amongst the chicks thrown in. You guys, it is friggin’ AWESOME. YOU CANNOT LOOK AWAY.
Remember that episode of Charlie’s Angels, where the girls go into prison to investigate the murder of one of the inmates? Where Kelly (aka Jaclyn Smith) utters the best line EVAR after the prisoners get hosed down with the nasty anti-lice spray or whatever it is, and she turns to the prison guard all snotty and goes “When was the last time YOU were sprayed?” and the guard gives her this sneery bitchy look in return and I think billy-clubs her ass but I don’t remember. But I digress. Remember how the girls get dressed up and taken outside of the prison to be hookers to wealthy businessmen? Oh yeah, that happens in Chained Heat, too. It’s just one big giant ball of awesome. Please, if you are severely pregnant or just incredibly sick of everything on TV lately, look for it in your movie channels and tivo that bitch. You will be so glad you did.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
I know, I have been so absent lately. It’s not for lack of wanting to write, trust me. There are a bajillion thoughts and feelings coursing through my pea brain these days as I wrap up my tour of pregnancy duty. I mean just my crazy-ass dreams alone would have me coming up with volumes of raw and freaky Freudian material to analyze. But the tiredness. Oh, the tiredness. It’s all I can do to simply get my huge ass in the shower some days.
As Jen has warned me in the past, the ninth month is ass. And she was right. I recently read Belly Laughs by Jenny McCarthy (my new personal hero after I saw her rip that doctor a new bunghole on Larry King about the childhood vaccine issue), and she mentions in the book something that I have tried but failed to articulate in my whining about the tiredness of pregnancy: “Imagine staying up all night, then running a marathon, then doing three hundred loads of laundry and raking leaves off a football field all in one day. How tired would you be?” That is exactly how I feel, every day. Sometimes more than others.
I’m not sure if it’s the fact that I don’t sleep more than two hours at a time at night because I either have to get up and pee three times or more (sometimes within a half-hour of the last time!) or have to roll over and change positions to relieve the pain in my hips – an acrobatic feat that is at once time-consuming and uncomfortable to accomplish because so much of my personal real estate is occupied by Baby.
Or if it is just the exhaustion brought on by lugging an extra 45 pounds around throughout the day. That is some serious weight, people! And by the end of the day, it feels more like 100 pounds!
I remember less than a year ago when we were in Italy and schlepping luggage around from one town to the next. We purposely packed very light, but just getting that little carry-on suitcase and my tote bag from train to taxi to hotel or whatever was SUPER exhausting. And that thing was on wheels! And that was after having had blissful nights of pure, uninterrupted sleep! And I could set those things down and rest! You can never set down a big giant baby surrounded by a crapload of amniotic fluid! You’re stuck with it until he decides to bust out!
And let’s talk about what all that tiredness does to the ol’ noggin. You guys, it’s embarrassing. I can’t even watch an episode of Law & Order anymore without asking Derek dumb questions every 10 minutes. “Wait… why are they at that guy’s house now? I thought the other guy was the one where they found you know, the forensics and stuff and the note with the thing on it…. Wha??? And who is this guy again?” I can’t keep the names of the characters straight or remember what evidence was found in the last scene that led to this scene. I might as well have watched the last scene last year for my amount of comprehension. And watching TV is like, one of the few things I can do well anymore these days besides putting away Trader Joe’s ice cream sandwiches.
The other day on 30 Rock, they were all enraptured with this fictional reality show called MILF Island. I swear if that show existed, I would be watching it right now. It sounds like exactly the level of intelligence I would be able to keep up with.
The good news is, my Obsessive Pregnant Brain seems to have gone away for now. There is just not enough brain juice to obsess on anything or even focus on a semi-intelligent TV show, and so instead I find myself thinking constantly about how soon it will be that I get to meet the little guy living inside me. That thought is distracting enough. I’m just so darn excited. No, excited doesn’t really cover it. Anxious doesn’t really do it either. I’m so looking forward to getting to know him and take care of him that sometimes I just can’t think about anything else. There are so many things I want to tell him, so many miraculous things about being pregnant with him that I want to share, so many wonderful moments that I want to tell him about his family and his aunties and uncles who are all excited to meet him too.
But I’m just too tired and need to go lie down.