Lots happening but I'm too tired to write much. My feet and ankles have started swelling and it's getting harder to sleep. Mr. K bought me a body pillow. Hooray for the body pillow.
Evidently post-nasal drip happens to some women during pregnancy because the body is making so much extra mucus. I'm one of those women, and I've been coughing for seven weeks now. Sick. Of. Coughing.
I don't have anything serious to complain about, though. The baby is active and everything seems to be going well. I've found a great chiropractor who specializes in treating pregnant women, and I've hired a doula who comes very, very highly recommended. Tried prenatal yoga yesterday: didn't love it, but should probably stick with it. My balance for the tree pose is somewhat lacking.
I've discovered a marvellous Thai restaurant half a block from work. Gotten lunch from there three times in the past week. Today's lunch (with one of my colleagues, who is leaving in a week or two because he's about to burn out, alas): fish cakes, mango salad, and coconut rice. Yum, yum.
Some guy tried to pick me up as I was walking down Eglinton yesterday. I'm not used to having people try to pick me up, so the whole experience was strange and slightly unsettling. He stopped me to comment on my dangly moonstone necklace, asked several questions I didn't readily understand ("Are they your moonstones?" and "What are you doing?" at the top of the list) (and no, Mr. Friendly, my necklace did not come from the moon), and then said he hoped I'd join him for a beer. Guess he must've missed the wedding ring and the six-months-pregnant belly. Flattering but weird.
C., another colleague who is leaving soon (she's going back to school, and I'm taking over her job for a week starting next Monday until the new guy can get trained), told me today that her sister-in-law just lost her baby at eleven weeks. It's hard to talk about miscarriage: hearing about other people's experiences just dredges up so much pain and sadness. People mean well when they say things like "At least you know you can get pregnant" and "It's for the best," but dammit, all the hopes and dreams that were starting to take root are suddenly devastated, and for a long time every passing pregnant woman or tiny baby is like a knife to the heart. C. and I talked for quite a while; I think she's going to go visit her sister-in-law this weekend to help her grieve.
The Esquivalient One (to whom I wish peace and happiness as she tries to sort out her career and her relationship with her sweetie -- been through the rough patches myself, and yea, verily do they suck) mentions that she is careful about her blogging in order to maintain a narrative flow. A noble, considerate goal, that: makes reading her stuff more than worthwhile. All I have energy for right now, though, is brief little snapsnots such as this one.