A vent of sorts

At this point, I'm eleven (eeek! That's 11!!!) weeks pregnant...this means the following:

I'm almost out of the first trimestre;
Mr. M and I need to get our butts in gear making plans (all that fun financial stuff);
Mr. M and I can officially spread the news via whichever way we wish. I will most likely just send a link to this blog to everyone I know. I'm a bitch like that.

Seriously. We have life insurance to purchase, wills to write, guardians to appoint, and we also each have to make sure the other will be taken care of should something happen to one of us. Oooo, yes. Very grim thoughts indeed. But you should see what goes on inside my mind on a daily basis. Sometimes I wish death upon my neighbours for being loud. There are days when I will flip everyone on the road off simply because I'm in a bad mood.

And...oh. Yes. Yours truly does not wish to become a statistic and being a single mother being admitted into the hospital come her EDD. So...Mr. M will be tying the knot this summer...where, is beyond us, for we have to iron out the details, still - such as the date, which depends on WHEN my mum can come this summer, and maybe (hopefully), with the one brother I'm admitting to right now.

Asides from that, I feel great. I had diarrhea all day today, with severe stomach cramps.

There are days I feel like I have a certain 'glow' about me. There are days where I didn't get any sleep whatsoever, so I look like death just woke up.

My boobs have increased an entire cup size. Mr. M loves that.

I pee like a race horse every goddamn 10 minutes. I can barely make it to and from work without gritting my teeth to hold in pee.

My sex drive? If a few days go by without some good monkey sex, I start getting bitchy. Another thing that Mr. M loves.

Apparently, I've sprouted the natural human methane gas version of Old Faithful. I can kill an elephant with my gas, it's that lethal. Mr. M is complaining. His mom and sister say he's getting what he deserves. I tend to agree with them on that point. But...seriously? They're BAD.

My clothes don't fit anymore with the exception of two pairs of jeans, and those I must wear with a Bella Band to keep them up. My tummy popped out the other day, my work pants no longer fit.

I bought my first maternity clothes the other day - leggings. They are uber-comfy, I wish I could wear them everyday, but unfortunately, I don't have enough shirts that are long enough to last all week.

Anyway, Mr. M was sent grocery shopping tonight. I was afraid of having to run to the bathroom with explosive diarrhea at the store - disgusting.