Don't Wake Up the Bear!

We have entered the third trimester of my pregnancy, which this time, I am officially dubbing "bear season". I am large. I lumber around my kitchen, foraging for food. Occasionally I will be spotted out of doors, but this will become more and more rare as the weeks pass. I am INCREDIBLY cranky. And hyper-emotional, to boot. If you make me cry, don't worry. If I don't immediately eat you, I will understand that it isn't you, it's me.

I would love to sleep all the time, but sleeping is actually one of the more uncomfortable things I do on a daily basis. Craig left our bed (voluntarily) a week ago, and while the extra space is nice, I feel increasingly ostracized. (Did I mention that socializing, outside of a select few understanding people, is getting more and more difficult? And yet I feel ostracized? Are we seeing a "Meaghan can not be made happy" trend?) My back is killing me. By the end of the day, I am literally hobbling through the house like a grouchy geriatric lunatic. (However, we bought the CMO brace today, and I felt instant relief. I have not yet started feathering my hair, though, and choose to wear the brace UNDER my clothing, for the time being.)

So, consider this fair warning. Meaghan has left, and has been replaced by an angry, hungry bear looking for Oreos. I will not be back for many months, because new baby hormones will undoubtedly turn me into a nauseating mush ball. If you ask me how much I weigh, I will cry. If you tell me that I'm "finally starting to show" I will come at you like a spider monkey. And if you look funny at my shoes, as did the gentleman in the waiting room of the OB's office today, I may bash your teeth in with my fist. Just thought you should know.