I’m generally pretty moody in the morning.
And by moody, I mean that it can really go either way – I can be the sweetest sparkle cuddle-monster, or I can be a murderous bloodthirsty jungle panther. And so far, pregnancy has only widened the gap between these two extremes.
What causes the pendulum to swing, you ask?
Sometimes it’s the direction of the wind, like Mary Poppins’ menstrual cycle. Other times it’s if the planets are in alignment or if our pantry is sufficiently stocked with poptarts.
Brian gets up for work considerably earlier than I do, considering the work I do now – creating life – I’m so freaking good at, I can do it in my sleep, thankyouverymuch. He has two alarms: one quiet, melodic one and one so loud and jarring that it wakes the dead. I’ve grown to hate them both.
Since moving to Oregon and living under Stompasaurus Sex, I’ve taken to wearing earplugs while I sleep. Sleep is very, very important to me. I love sleep, and it usually loves me…except when one (or both) of the dreamwreckers named Stompasaurus and Pregnancy get in the way.
So, having said all this, every night is a crapshoot concerning how well I’ll sleep and whether I’ll end up awake when Brian gets up for work in the morning. And even then, if I end up awake, there is no telling what mood I’ll be in.
Picture the scene from this morning: Both of Brian’s alarms had gone off. The second one had successfully summoned several demons from the depths of Hell, and as a result, I was awake. Because I was awake, I had to go pee. Naturally. I got up slowly and made sure I had my bearings, partly because it was still dark, partly because my center of gravity is constantly changing and I am in danger of tipping over even when I am sitting down, and partly because I was wearing earplugs and can’t hear danger. I was also wearing this really cute zebra print onesie that I can barely still fit into, and the night before I had pranced around saying I was a pregnant zebra and made fierce growling noises.
“You know zebras don’t growl,” Brian had commented when I demanded he pay attention to me.
“Have you ever seen a pregnant zebra?! I’m sure they have plenty to growl about, if they feel anything like I do. RAWR!” Was my reply.
Back to the morning.
Brian, ever the survivalist, says he never expects me to be friendly in the morning, just to be safe. “So I’m always wary when you come near me,” he explained, “Like I’m being approached by a wild animal, and I’m the human with poor night vision.”
So I shuffle back from the bathroom, and decide to help get Brian out of bed, lest he fall asleep again, miss work, and is unable to support his wife and unborn baby zebra. I decide that the best way to do this is to hit him on the head. Once he got up, I lunged closer to him, and he froze. I went in for a warm, cuddly wordless hug that only a deaf, half-asleep, pregnant zebra can give, and then fell back into bed exhausted.
Brian backed away slowly and shut the door behind him, having survived another morning.
Psychobabble 