One of the recent entries was by Elisa Donovan (who was in the movie Clueless). Click here to read the original article. I've included some of the things she said that I loved:
"After staring at the blue plus sign on the EPT test in our bathroom, I secretly had the shameful sensation of wanting just another month or so before becoming pregnant. Just a little extra corner of time in order to prepare, to get ready, to — I don’t know … drink wine more heavily? Go out salsa dancing til 2 a.m.? To squeeze the marrow out of my non-parent adulthood? It was a familiar feeling, like that of wanting just one more day of vacation, or wanting to stay up just an hour later when I was 10."
"Then there’s the morning sickness. I had the misconception that “morning sickness” happened in the morning (call me crazy), and that you just threw up once or twice and then went about your day. For me it felt like the worst hangover imaginable coupled with jet lag, and it lasted for three to four months straight.
Charlie would leave for work in the morning, and I would be in bed in sweatpants. He would come home from work in the afternoon, and I would be on the couch in sweatpants. I was horizontal virtually all day and night, sitting up from time to time to eat some Saltines or take a sip of ginger ale. It was the worst.
One day Charlie came home and sat next to me on the couch. He stroked my head, an oily, matted-down mess of hair, and gently whispered: “Listen E … you have to take a shower. At some point, you really need to take a shower.”
I thought my reply was not only logical but exemplified economy of time and energy: “But I’m just going to be back on the couch again tomorrow, so…?” “You’re smelly,” he said, kindly. “You really are.”
One would think this would have catapulted me into action. Not so much. Though I did promise to consider it for tomorrow’s task."
Charlie would leave for work in the morning, and I would be in bed in sweatpants. He would come home from work in the afternoon, and I would be on the couch in sweatpants. I was horizontal virtually all day and night, sitting up from time to time to eat some Saltines or take a sip of ginger ale. It was the worst.
One day Charlie came home and sat next to me on the couch. He stroked my head, an oily, matted-down mess of hair, and gently whispered: “Listen E … you have to take a shower. At some point, you really need to take a shower.”
I thought my reply was not only logical but exemplified economy of time and energy: “But I’m just going to be back on the couch again tomorrow, so…?” “You’re smelly,” he said, kindly. “You really are.”
One would think this would have catapulted me into action. Not so much. Though I did promise to consider it for tomorrow’s task."
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