Bad Blood

It's always something in this fight my body and I have about pregnancy. I can imagine my body in a one-woman (what else?) show, played by an unknown red-head with her best "My Cousin Vinny" accent, chewing gum and wearing too much mascara.



"Look, it's not like a big surprise or anything. I toldja all along that this pregnancy thing just itn't for me, right? Didn't I? Didn't I tell ya like a hundred different freakin' times? So don't go cryin' now that it itn't a bed a roses or somethin'.

"Oh, ya think so? Ya think it's easy to keep this rickety skeleton togetha, to make sure all those organs are workin' in a basically kinda normal way? To get that hair to keep growing? It's a full time job already and now ya I gotta buildja a whole otha human bein' ? Are you kiddin' me?"



I'm pretty sure my body's persona is basically a pain in the ass. No matter how much blackstrap molasses and spinach I eat, plus whatever is in the prenatals, I am severely anemic. I do tend to be mildly anemic sometimes anyway, but this time it's a dramatic drop. So, onto the giant iron supplements.

I keep reminding myself that I am perfectly happy to deal with a jillion little problems along the way as long as I can avoid any major ones in the long run. I just hope my body can stop complaining so much - it's not like I don't try to be good to this rickety skeleton and all of it's various bits.

Tomorrow, a massage - just to show that I do still care.