I've lost that [excited] feeling

I've been feeling something different the past week. I couldn't pin down what it was. I had thought it was that I was starting to think that I wasn't really ready for a baby after all. But that didn't make sense to me. I mean, I still sobbed after the last bum cycle.. As I was swimming up from the depths of "Saturday morning sleep" (it's the best kind) I realised what that feeling was.

I'm not excited anymore.

When we first started trying, I would practically vibrate with excitement. I was so excited at the thought of telling my husband, of telling our families, of how pleased for us I hoped they would be. Images of my husband singing to my belly, of us feeling our baby move would go through my head. I would trawl through miles and miles of the internet looking at baby furniture and decorating ideas. I was absolutely fascinated with looking at other women's growing bellies in their bios. I had a diaper bag all picked out, and one for my husband, I looked into the different kinds of baby slings (even bought one). I laid out a birth plan (what an idiot I was), decided I wanted to go with a midwife. I was so thrilled at the idea of holding my baby in my arms in the seconds after his/her birth, and seeing the look on my husband's face at what we had created together. I worried about my ability to breasfeed, and researched that.

It was a very exciting time back then. And now less than a year later, that's pretty much all gone. I wasn't expecting that. What I want to die, hope, that still "springs eternal." That would make it so much easier to make it through the last few days of every cycle, if I wasn't so damn hopeful. But the excitement? I never wanted that to go away, although, I suppose that's naive to think I could have one without the other. But if excitement was going to die, why couldn't hope go with it?

Douchebag of the Day

There was a time when I really wanted to be sure that my posts were "significant" but now I figure, it's my blog, and I can post what I want. So, today, I am posting the first of what I am sure will be many Douchebag of the Day.
I figure I have a pretty even temper. I don't go ballistic very often. Most of the time when I do, I am in the car.
Picture this... a 1.5 hour commute to a workplace that is significantly more North than my home. So, when I arrive at said workplace, it has snowed, and the roads are a wet, muddy, slushy mess. I drop off the husband, and have about 6.5 minutes to make it to my workplace before I am late. Normally, not much of a challenge, since we work within 5 minutes of each other. I am significantly delayed however, but todays Douchebag of the Day who decides that they are going to drive, straddling the white line, so that I cannot pass them in either lane. I am a firm believer in the "fast lane" theory. In that, you can drive as slowwwww as you want, as long as you are in the right lane. Once you are in the left lane, get the eff out of my way. This is a fair theory. It works for everyone. Until the Douchebag of the Day throws a wrench in the works by driving IN THE MIDDLE OF BOTH LANES. Why in the world do people think they can do this? They think they are special? That the unwritten laws that keep our universe from descending into chaos don't apply to them?

Sometimes, I wish I had a rocket launcher.

You don't know sh*t: ramble

So, I changed the url for my blog from what it was before, Brideorexia. I can't believe it was free at the time, but it was, and I used it. Now though, this woman has taken that url, and has created this completely ludicrous interpretation of me. Really, please go check it out here. It's funny that she has painted me as this vapid, looks obsessed girl, and thinks that I have no sense of priorities.

At any rate, I am taking this opportunity to rant.

I am fat.

And its the first thing you would notice about me if you met me. Not that I have blonde hair, not that I wear glasses, not that I am pretty good at solving problems, not that I try to be good to people, not that I have a decent sense of humor, none of that. Just that I am fat. And I am not even THAT fat. I am not novelty greeting card fat. I am not documentary-movie fat, I am not too-big-to-fit-into-an-airplane-seat fat, not, heads-swivel-to-take-in-the- enormity-of-my-mass fat. I'm just far from skinny.

So f*cking sue me if I wanted to lose a little weight and feel pretty on my wedding day.
And, don't be "nice" to me, and tell me I am not fat. It's condescending. I know I am. Do you think I am blind? I don't have a mirror? Trust me. I have every magazine, movie, TV show, virtually every media outlet telling me that I am fat, and they tell me almost every minute of the day. I know what you might be thinking... "wha wha wha, cry me a river. Put down the twinkie." You know what, ya, I do eat more than I need to. But not by that much. And so do about a billion other people, and if they are lucky enough to be naturally skinny, they don't get judged for it. Being fat is the only thing that you are "allowed" to mock anymore. You can't make fun of anyone's race, religion, disability, nothing, but hey, its a free for all with the fatties.

I don't think that it's just me. I don't think that its something that just I feel to be true. I think it is true. I think that people don't see fat people as anything but fat people. It's the overriding characteristic. But, if you feel I am wrong, please let me know.

Whatever, I don't know what my point was. I am sure I started with one, but it got lost.