Crying over spilled peas (and a pork chop)

Remember how yesterday I was semi-bragging (okay, gloating, really) about how mellow and cool I am? About how nothing phases me, and I pooh-pooh minor things like using the wrong flour and making messes? Well...I wasn't feeling that chill vibe later in the day. Well, most of the day. Yesterday was just a difficult day, mostly owing to a couple of things:

• Being pregnant and being tired/constantly pulling my ab muscles/having back pain/being moody/having headaches/hurting in various other places
• Not getting quality sleep this weekend, due to dogs running amok and waking me up every half hour (we had a dog house guest who has since departed)
• Being pregnant
• Having a deadline looming in a few weeks that's freaking me out (yes, plenty of time, but still!)
• Being pregnant
• Worrying about not working/not having money
• Being pregnant

Anyhow, I held it together most of the day, long enough to pick up a few things at Target, find the Illustrator book I was looking for at Borders, clean, bake a loaf of bread (in the machine), and do a little blogging (which mostly involved looking up recipes and getting distracted by links to other blogs). I won't lie to ya, I was hurting all day, very tired, headachey, and just uncomfortable. The lovely abdominal pains didn't want to let up all day, so I was having fun tolerating those as I moved around, doing my thing. But all in all, I held it together pretty well.

That is, until I showed Pete a 3D image of a 16-week fetus (my current stage) and tried to wow him with interactively rotating it 360 degrees for his amazement. He wasn't so amazed but merely amused, and made some goofy comments about the baby image and walked away. Now, normally that would not phase me and I might even laugh. But not yesterday. This set off a chain reaction made of hormones, tears, and more hormones and tears. After getting weepy for a few minutes, I decided to heat up a leftover chop and peas from Saturday night. I cut away the bone from the chop's meat, and as I tried to slide the bone into the garbage, my entire plate and dinner somehow fell out of my hands and shattered on the floor. Yes, there were peas and pork and plate chunks all over the place. This set off even MORE tears, after which Pete sensed he should get his butt in the kitchen and soothe and help me. I, of course, in my hormonally-hijacked body, tearfully tried to push him away, more for dramatic effect than anything. A wobbly, weepy pregnant woman was no match for Pete, and he succeeded in shooing me away and cleaning up the mess ("But there's peas under the wall!" I wailed, to which he calmly replied he would take care of it.)

Of course, it wasn't enough that I was hurting, weepy, and tired. I had to ignore Pete's suggestion that I go rest, and instead I started washing dishes (well, we DID have a sink full of them). He asked what he could do to help me, after offering me the remaining chop several times (I declined). I did shakily suggest he could rub my back later, "if he wanted to," to which he wisely agreed. I finished the dishes and heated up some hot chocolate, which I finished in a few gulps in front of my laptop, reading blogs. Pete retired to the living room and watched some Military Channel show about ultimate battles (Note: I really don't like the Military Channel.). I eventually calmed down and contemplated what to eat, since I steadfastly refused the extra chop and anything else Pete attempted to bribe me with ("Potatoes? No? How about the noodles? No? Okay...")

I have since slowly reverted to my pre-hysteria state, although I am still hurting and tired. It doesn't make me feel like drawing cartoons all day, but that is what I must do.

So the next time I drone on and on about being so above it all and in a state of pregnant bliss, ignore me. Or at least take it with a grain of salt (and a side of pork and peas). Just remember I have a bucket load of hormones cursing through my body, as well as a gigantic belly that puts a strain on my poor system (and it's only going to get worse). At least I recognize my weaker moments, eh?

(Image from Terrystuff)