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Counting the ceiling tiles

October 23, 2010

I had big bed rest dreams. In my 48 hours consigned to bed, I would catch up on work, even get ahead on work, make big plans and carry them through.

It turns out I don’t work that well when I can’t lift my head more than two pillows high and have to be flat on my back. I can’t imagine how people consigned to bed rest for months of pregnancy get by.

I passed my time by updating Facebook every three minutes (people, you could have cooperated by adding more interesting posts), watching “Louie” on Netflix (time very well spent), and surrounding myself with books I would not read.

I also found a new hobby: Becoming a pregnancy hypochondriac. That’s when you examine every little twinge as being possibly symptomatic of attached embryos.

My breasts feel a little sore. Let’s poke them and see if they are. Hey, when I poke them a lot, they get sore! I must be pregnant.

My lower back hurts. I’ve been lying in one position for two days and my lower back hurts! I must be pregnant.

Also, I get hungry like every five hours. That’s a sure sign of pregnancy, right?

To the best of my knowledge, I have two embryos inside me. Therefore, this week I’m eating for three. Next week, reality may get in the way of binging, but until then, bring on the chicken vindaloo.

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