I didn’t post yesterday in hopes that something fun and exciting would happen. Nope. Not happening. Last week was pretty bad, overall. By Friday, I was reduced to BEGGING FOR FOOD FROM STRANGERS. Friday morning started out nicely. I woke up early and had time to kill before our 12:30pm flight. I got coffee and a bagel then lounged in the pool area reading my book. I didn’t stock up on food because I had my boarding pass in hand and figured I would grab lunch at the airport. What I didn’t “figure” on happening was a security breach at Seatac. I didn’t plan on sitting in the security line for over an hour, not knowing when/if the line was going to move and if I would miss the only non-stop flight out for that entire day. I didn’t plan on my blood sugar plummeting to the point where I felt like I was going to faint and a kind lady next to me offered me some of her chocolate. We did make it through security, ran to our gate, where I promptly begged the air hostess for one of those creppy hydrogenated oils-laden snack packs. Then, the kind people sitting in my row offered some of their food – string cheese which at that point looked like MANNA FROM HEAVEN – REAL! FOOD! People, I was pulling the Pregnancy Card out left and right. I now completely understand how quickly someone can throw their pride to the wind when they are worried about their kid – because that’s what it was really about; I was worried about the little Freeloader. I realize in hindsight, I should have risked missing my flight, but all I could think of is that there were only 2 flights left for that day both of which got in well after 10:30 pm. Anyway, I did make it home. Eventually.
The other thing that happened last week is that the little Freeloader was a baby breakdancing machine ALL WEEK, ALL DAY. I suspect it was due to the stressful environment and that we were working in a huge room that was under construction. It was so loud, we spent most of the time shouting to communicate. Also, I was on my feet a lot and had to carry my chair around with me to even have a place to sit as I moved from machine to machine. Anyway, I quickly became spoiled by all the kicking around from the kid – this was proof that my own little Billy Elliott was ALIVE, after all. However, he was must have gotten exhausted because he didn’t move much over the entire weekend. Of course, that evil god of motherhood – Needless Paranoia - takes over at 10:00pm last night and I start convincing myself that he must be dead since I had thoughtlessly subjected him to low blood sugar and the whine of a construction worker’s drill. Thankfully, a big glass of orange juice and some firm pokes around the belly confirmed that while he was probably pissed off at me for waking him up, that he was at least alive. Little ingrate. Of course, according to his sonogram pic, the Skeletor Baby is at least a CUTE little ingrate.