Rock & a Soft, Plush, Pillowtop Place

Here’s something you don’t read about so often: gross neglect of family and friends during pregnancy.

Now, I’m not tooting a horn of any kind here, but I’d like to preface this entry by stating that I am a decent friend. I won’t call it what its not – for instance, I’m mediocre, at best, with keeping in touch. I sometimes forget to send Thank You cards, Christmas cards, Birthday cards, but usually I remember within 7-10 business days. I’m a master of answering text messages/facebook messages that both come directly to my phone, voicemails are somewhat of a different story.

HOWEVER, I, as a pregnant woman, SUCK at any and all regards of communication with ANYONE. (Small interjection – a few of my closest friends jumped ship [hopefully temporarily] and moved to the West Coast, and yes, I could be calling you back right now, but its 6 am your time.) I received 4 – count ‘em, 4! – belly belts from my Mom on Monday, have I called her yet to thank her? Did I call Hilary on her birthday? The answer to these questions is no, certainly not. Instead, I slept. Blissfully and without guilt, I slept and slept and ohhhhhhh I slept. It didn’t matter which hopelessly mundane show was on the History Channel, I let the monotone narrator lull me in and out of sleep for close to two months. Straight.

I’ve turned into a cruddy friend as of late, and I’m wicked, wicked sorry.

It’s not just loved ones I’ve lost touch with. You should see me. I blow dried my hair for the first time in weeks just yesterday – plastered some make-up to my cheeks, and felt like a girl, finally, after nearly 60 days had passed. I beg my boyfriend to remind me I am pretty 40-50 times a day, mostly because I don’t believe it anymore. It’s hard to convince yourself you might be even remotely attractive when the length of your leg hair is catching up to that of your Labrador Retriever’s. For almost 2 months, I’ve slept, and that’s it.

Pathetic sympathies aside, this is a feeble attempt at explaining my somewhat odd disappearance from society in general. I’ve all but vanished from my own home - Thank God for caring, understanding boyfriends or the dishes would never get done, my laundry would be hard as a rock lying in the hamper, and my dogs wickedly undernourished. I keep asking the universe, “When will I feel like myself again?”

I haven’t heard an answer yet, but my bed is calling my name.