This is the first "normal" weekend we have had in such a long time - I'd forgotten how nice it could be to make waffles for breakfast (I unpacked the kitchen stuff at last) and drink coffee made in our Bodum and poured into my Fireking cups and read the paper (I am so so happy to be a NYT subscriber after all these years if only for the wedding announcement section alone) for hours and go for a walk and see a matinee (Superbad because I love Michael Sera and while I did laugh often, right from the credits, I think some boy gross-out stuff could have been turned down just a little, just the tiniest bit, maybe a little?)and watch our first movie on DVD since we moved. Normal things. Good feelings. And it sure beats Saturday morning when I woke up weeping uncontrollably, mostly because of where we live.
Partially because we just got back from SF, partially because I am so very aware that this time last year we were on our Euro-tour, partially just because I rub up against the many, many limitations of small town living every day and yet - we have to suck it up and make the best of it. The first step in our Suck It Up campaign is to stop trash-talking the place. When AH and I are together, we are bitter old gossips about the town, rolling our eyes and making snarky remarks and wondering how the damn town can live with itself. We have vowed to stop doing this - but it is hard, so very hard to put on a pleasant face and not sneer "THIS is the famous farmers market???" We are snobs, I will admit it. But we are trying to repress it, maybe if we don't express it as much, it won't be as upsetting. This is the current plan. That and a bunch of cobbled together meditation, half-assed Artists Way work and some "self-work" plucked from Mavens blog, so I can make it through the night. And the morning.

In other traumatic events, Friday was my second day of work. Staff were out that day so I was entirely alone supporting programs I knew next to nothing about and of course, all equipment failed, questions were asked I had no clue about, systems crashed and I may have shed a tear or two in the bathroom. First days of work (real work, not the training) are so hard but this was publicly hard. The few moments of triumph I did have were particularly triumphy though and I do know it will get easier. God, I hope so. The only comfort I can take is in knowing I have to get better, for there is no way I can get any worse.

And to end this sour sounding entry (odd because I feel pretty great actually but who I am to force the flow of a journal entry - it comes out how it comes out and I refuse to pretty it up), I am pleased to announce that pregnancy cliche #21 - Swollen Feet - has arrived with a vengeance. The feet, they must be propped at all times and the shoes, they don't fit so well anymore. My feet were (and I mean this seriously) the only part of my body I've ever truly liked. And now they turn on me too, looking like they belong to Fred Flintstone or something. My nights however have been massively, significantly improved by the birthday gift from Mom and Sister, the Big V pillow. It is one of those body length pillows that I didn't understand until I had one. If you have a pregnant relative, might I suggest this pillow as a gift? I thank them feverishly and silently every night. The Lump has been moving a lot, which isn't what you might expect. Not exactly flips or punches or kicks but these odd little Gulps and Gurgles. It's kind of disturbing and unpleasant, actually. Which seems, as usual, to put me outside the Mother Standard Paradigm. I've been noting with great interest other Future Mother Bloggers entries on their pregnancies (eg. Keri of the Wish Jar blog) and her excitement at the movements and how "she falls more deeply in love with her unborn kid each day". This seems to be a common sentiment, one I do not share. I am pretty in love with how I look and feel most of the time, and how AH has reacted to everything, but I'm reserving my love for this kid when I actually feel it. When I meet them, when I hope it kicks in. When we get to know this strange gulping lump.