Cranky Pants

I am getting crankier. I am trying to avoid this, but the third trimester appears to be getting the better of me. My right middle ribs feel like they are broken, my nausea is increased by fatigue, I’m having trouble sleeping, and as a consequence I am *angry* a lot of the time. So far, I have mostly (I think…) kept the rage to myself.

For instance, I did not go yell at two hapless undergrads in the library when I heard one of them say that a friend of theirs wanted to “go Ivy” to MIT. I was 15 yards away (and in a library), but I wanted to whirl around and shriek at them, “MIT isn’t in the Ivy League!!! GOD!” (even though we invite MIT to everything the Ivy League does together). I did, however, have a little Mr. and Mrs. with B about the couch cushions: “I hate how you make the bottom couch cushions stick half way off the couch. What do you DO to them?!?!?! GOD!!” B, looking a little wary: “I fixed them. Well, I did a minute ago.” Me: (snorts scornfully and glares).

Luckily, whenever I get too cranky, I can go re-read this post about cake, and practically get a nosebleed from laughing so hard.

Edited to add: You know what else makes me mad?!? When I put in a new infusion set (because my other “new” one lasted all of 12 hours) and it fills 23 inches of tubing with blood before I can say “Captain Jack Sparrow”, and then needs tissues and a band-aid. And then the old site bleeds when I take it out, so there is just blood everywhere. And my sugars are high, so I can’t eat the yummy dinner that B made me–except the broccoli. Or the cranberry bread he baked. Oh, and also, I can’t drink champagne. I’m mad.

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One Response to Cranky Pants

  1. GardenGal says:

    I say be cranky. You will never have as good an excuse again. That is, of course, unless you want to try to work on a niece for us. 😛

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