Thursday, March 31, 2005

Experiments and Children (no, not experiments with children, you perv)

I had a caffeine experiment go awry on me today. I’ve weaned myself down to one cup of coffee in the mornings. That way, if I feel like having a Pepsi later, or some of that nummy Stash organic green and black Earl Grey tea that Starr introduced me to, I can.

This morning went fine without coffee. Not a problem. But around noon, the headache started. It got progressively worse until about a half hour ago, when I decided to say fuck it and drink some of the aforementioned tea. Now I’m feeling much perkier and my headache has slowed down from a violent jackhammer to a dull throb. I was literally falling asleep at my desk. That’s a bad feeling. It’s right up there with those bad touches they teach you about when you’re a kid.

Today is even more gorgeous than yesterday. I really love the crazy Pennsylvania jump from winter into summer. Spring? What spring? It’s 70 degrees and sunny. It was supposed to be raining, but my guess is that the rain will start the second I shut down my computer to leave for the day.

My husband’s band got to play last night, which was fun. We were surrounded by kids, which made me wonder if I’m going to pop out either a little girl in a mini skirt, tank top, and flip flops, or a little boy with one of those mesh trucker hats, Beatles hair, and skinny jeans. Fashion isn’t what it was when I was a teenager. I wore big skateboarding t-shirts and jeans as my regular everyday uniform. You never, ever would have caught me at a show in a mini skirt and tank top. And how do you mosh in flip-flops? Kids.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Alien Fuzzball

Thinking back a couple weeks to when I never gave a second thought to using a back-up birth control, I realize that I knew that this was happening to my body, even if I wasn’t aware of it yet. In the 2 weeks that I was pregnant with out knowing it, subconsciously, I did know it. I talked about baby names that I liked. I smiled at babies in department stores. I pointed out the lines in my friends palms that are supposed to indicate the number of kids you are supposed to have and showed them that I have 2 lines. I talked about how your ribcage spreads and never goes back with two girlfriends. Weird little foreshadowing things happened. All the signs were pointing to it. How could I have missed it?

I know I talked about my annoyance I felt a few weeks ago while just hanging out with the same people I normally hang out with who I've never felt annoyed by (only that once Greg, when you and Jon Kelly made fun of my feet. Back in '95) other than Ryan, who annoys me daily (I'm sure he's loving me right now too). All annoyance aside, I’ve discovered what I’m really feeling is alienation. None of my friends have kids. I don’t know if any of them ever will. I never thought I’d be the first one to do it, like some sort of parent pioneer. I was always the one who threw the awesome parties (Cocktail ’99 being one of my best), and my husband was the life of the party. I think we are people that other people like to be around, once they know that I’m not going to bite their heads off. I talked about how I used to regard babies as “social liability” on my baby blog. Now I have to think about the way I felt while I was cringing as someone’s child was screaming and adjust that feeling. Now I have to be one of those people with a screaming child. And most of the time I feel completely alone in this. I know that I’m not alone. I know my husband is there to back me up, and our parents, and our friends, but I’m the one who has become the walking, talking fetus house. That’s the source of my alienation that nobody else can understand, simply because they’re not me.

Last week I had this horrible, vivid dream that I was in this dark, scary place, searching for my shoes. My only source of comfort was that I was with my friend Rob. I told him about the dream, and he offered this interpretation about the shoes: "To dream that you are not wearing any shoes, signifies that you have a lack of confidence in yourself and low self-assurance. You may be dealing with issues concerning your self-identity. Thus if you dream that you lose your shoes, then it suggests that you may be searching for your identity and finding/exploring who you are.” That is incredibly significant to me. I am searching for my identity. One day I was E-Lo, party girl, working for the weekend, and the next I’m E-Lo, mom-to-be. That’s quite a change. On top of that, it’s a change that I wasn’t even prepared for. The alienation stems from having to change my identity to find myself as a mother, something that I’ve never been before in any way, shape, or form. Feeling this way makes me shy away from my former life just a bit. Although Ryan keeps urging me not to be a “shut-in,” the place I want to be right now is my house. I’m terrified to be any place other than that for fear of losing my temper at the world, or worse yet, my friends.

This Friday I have to be in a very social situation that I can only hope will not annoy me to tears. Ryan’s band is playing with four other bands, and I know there will be people there that I haven’t seen yet, congratulating me and asking all kinds of questions that I just don’t want to answer. I don’t want to talk baby with people 24-7. I want to do it here, where I can be unadulterated and uninhibited, and express my emotions freely without anyone really judging me. And if anyone tries to touch my stomach, arms might be ripped off. I’m already sick to death of everyone telling me what this is going to be like, yet I’m so full of curiosity that it’s just confusing. On Sunday I had Ryan’s eleven year old cousin tell me that her mom said it’s going to suck for me to have to be pregnant during the summer, and that once I get really big I’ll start snoring really loud. What do you say to that? Uh…you’re eleven! Didn’t you just start your period for the FIRST TIME last week? It all just makes me want to hide in my house on my couch for the next 8 months or so. I don’t want people to not be around me because I’m such a freakish bitch, but I’m afraid to be around them for fear that I am a freakish bitch.

Monday, March 28, 2005

Bad Food and Good Things

I can’t think about Chinese food without wanting to vomit. I love Chinese. Love it. I ate some veggie lo mein 2 weeks ago, and ever since, the thought of it turns my stomach. Not that it was bad when I was eating it, I just never want to eat it again. And that’s sad. This kid belongs to my husband, hater of ethnic foods. This is a junk food baby. All I want is grease, grease, greasygreasegrease. All the seemingly healthy homemade food that I was given yesterday did nothing for me. I practically had to force the ham, mashed potatoes and broccoli down my throat. My stomach was screaming for a steak sub with perfectly melted provolone on a thick crusty homemade bun. Oh crap. There it goes again.

The bonus of announcing your pregnancy to the world: My advisor just struck a deal with me on my thesis. She has not been in touch with me since November, and I went so far as to write a letter to my department chairperson voicing my frustration and anger. My advisor emailed me over the weekend congratulating me on my new job and fertility, and giving me some story about how she had back surgery and was having a tough time recovering. Seeing as how this is all mostly her fault (ok, it’s a little bit mine, but I don’t live in an academic environment anymore, and I don’t have the resources that I need to finish this the way I want, nor do I have the time, which I’ve been trying to explain to her for the past 2 years) she and my committee came up with a way to finish in the next month. My paper is good as is, and it won’t be published, which is fine with me, because I don’t want anyone reading it. Basically I have to incorporate my theory into a message design class. Then I’m done. Fine. Great. That’s all I wanted. Did I really have to get knocked up to make this happen? And it sounds to me like I don’t even have to present it, which is even better news.

Thank you, fuzzball. You’re my good luck charm. Maybe I’ll buy a lottery ticket tonight. Then you’ll have a college fund and you can go through the same bullshit that I had to and you’ll learn to appreciate your mother in ways you never thought possible.


Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Mmm... hot dogs... wait, that has nothing to do with this post...

Does anyone else watch American Idol, or am I the only nerd that truly enjoys it? If so, please tell me what was up with Paula last night, because I swear she was high. Even her eyes gave the impression of fucked-upness. I tried to see if my boss thought so, and he was like, “oh, she was really into it!” I told him I thought she was at least drunk. He thought that was funny, but the conversation trailed off soon after that comment. I think she was hitting the wacky tobaccy before the show. (I have to start saying things like “wacky tobaccy” because I’m going to be a mother. My mom actually calls it “wacky weed.”) At any rate, something was weird.

Apparently, my husband has decided to forgo any choosing of names before we know the sex of the baby. I ask him, and he says, “I’m not picking out any names before we know what it is!” Okaaaaaaaaaaayy…. But then he’ll throw something strange at me out of nowhere. He was literally taking a shit last night and yelled at me from the bathroom, “What do you think of the name Ramona?” What? You thought of that while pooping? Ramona? Number one, NO, and number two, you’re CRAPPING. He likes really weird old fashioned names. He also suggested the name Janis. I immediately thought of Janis Joplin. He was thinking of his mothers’ sister that died when she was little. I said that would be a good middle name. The names I suggest he hates. I’ve never gotten more made fun of than when I suggested Shalom.

We agree on Ash for now for a boy. We’ll see what happens down the road. Any suggestions? Don’t you want to be the one to name my child?

Monday, March 21, 2005

Begin Psycho Rant

You know what’s not as much fun as you might think it would be? Observing while your husband and friends get pissed drunk around you. Because by the time everyone is pretty much incoherent and slurring loudly, you’re very much ready to drink yourself, if only to dull the pain. But when you’re in the condition that I’m in, you just can’t do that. And when you’re in said condition, the littlest things aggrieve you. I suppose I’m going to have to get used to it though, because when you have alcoholic family and friends like I do, watching everyone get drunk is pretty much inevitable. Not that I’d rather hang out in a church group or anything like that.

You wouldn’t know it by reading the things I’ve written for the past couple days, but I’m surprisingly pleasant as a pregnant person. You’d think a person like me would have every reason not to be pleasant. Number 1, I’m just plain bitchy. Give me a topic, I’ll complain about it. Number 2, I didn’t even want kids until I was like, 35. I was almost sure that I’d never be ready. Now I have to be ready at the moment when I felt the least ready. Number 3, this involves acting like I have some level of maturity and responsibility, which I’ve caught on to quite nicely. I’ve quit smoking with no problem at all, I merely sit idly by as my everyday peeps drink their faces off, I say no, no, no! when someone offers me an alcoholic or caffeinated beverage. But it is disconcerting feeling like I have to be mother while everyone around me, including my baby’s daddy(ha, I’ve been waiting to say that), is still having fun playing. It makes me wonder if things are always going to be that way.

Maybe my outward pleasantry is just because I’m retaining my inner turmoil. Maybe I sound so bitchy here because this is the one place where I refuse to censor my feelings (for the most part). I’d like to say that I’m at perfect peace with the fact that my whole life has just flipped upside down, but I’m not. I have terrible waves of self-doubt and uneasiness that freak me out. I have guilty feelings when I think, “I’m not ready for this.” On the other hand, I burst into tears of joy when I imagine seeing my baby for the first time, and I smile when I think about my husband singing to my stomach in a few months when the baby can finally hear us. So when I have my feelings of doubt and frustration, I just remind myself that I’m not the first person to ever be the mother of an unplanned baby, and that my circumstances are much better than most women. I’m older, I’m educated, I’m married to a great guy and I have tons of family and friends who are super supportive.

End psycho rant. Maybe next time I’ll be able to talk about something other than being with child.

Friday, March 18, 2005

Do’s and Don’ts *UPDATED*

Work in an environment where everyone is supportive and happy when you tell them you are expecting. That went surprisingly well. I don’t know what I expected, maybe something like this;“I’m pregnant.” “You’re fired!” Darn, I could have sued for discrimination.
Bring me Krispy Kremes every day, not just on treat day. I can’t have beer, cigarettes, or my daily overdose of caffeine anymore, at least give me the crack cocaine that is the Krispy Kreme glazed donut.
Tell me that my stomach looks normal, even though I feel like someone is pumping my guts full of air. I can barely button my pants and I’m only five weeks pregnant. WHAT THE FUCK, KID?
Let me fall asleep where ever I am and don’t bother me. Something is building a home inside my body, and it’s very exhausting.
Continue to make me dinner every single day, because by the time I get home from work I’m ravenous. If there’s no dinner, I might eat your arm.
Laugh about how much I pee during the day. It’s funny. Yesterday I peed 3 times within the first hour of work. That’s hilarious. Today I cut my coffee intake down to one cup, so it’s not going to be nearly as much.
Repeatedly remind my husband that I AM PREGNANT. When I told him how my stomach felt the other day, he was like, “oh, come on, you just found out and now you’re all like, ‘my stomach feels weird.’” Hey, dick, that’s cause you impregnated me. Next time GO FUCK YOURSELF. Now make me dinner, bitch.

Invite me to go out to the bar on St. Patrick’s day. I might not be Irish, but I have a part Irish (the other part is hunkydeigogermanjew, as my dad likes to say, and if you find that offensive, then just go away. I have no time for you) kid living in my belly, and he/she doesn’t want me to go to the bar. He/she wants me to eat, sleep, and eat some more. Preferably McDonalds. THIS KID WANTS MCDONALDS.
Smoke around me. Please. I just quit on Tuesday, and I don’t want to do it again. If you smoke around me, I’ll want to smoke too. And this kid doesn’t want me to smoke. Or drink. OR DO ANYTHING BUT SLEEP AND EAT (fuzzball, can we say Quarter Pounder with Cheese? Oh, wait, you haven’t developed your vocal chords yet).
Tell me I can do all the things I normally do because pregnancy is not a disability. Excuse me, “doctor”, but the things I normally do are not healthy for being a suitable home to a fetus. Namely all the drinking and smoking I would normally do.
Make a big fuss over me and tell me congratulations. Almost everyone I’ve told has said congratulations, and I’m thinking, what for? Congratulations for making a mistake? For not using a condom at the appropriate time? Making a baby is easy. Heck, it’s even fun. And if it’s the time I think it was, it was REALLY fun. Tell me congratulations because I haven’t thrown up once yet. Now that’s an accomplishment that deserves recognition.
Make me stick my foot in my mouth about all the times I’ve bitched about other people’s kids. I’m still not a fan of other people’s kids. But my kid is going to be a rockstar. Oh, you didn’t know? Your ass better call somebody!
Listen to me when I make references to professional wrestling.
*Call me "Chubs," Mom. I'll bitch slap you right upside your head. And don't give me that offended look when I tell you how rude it is to fuck up my body image, something you've been doing MY WHOLE LIFE.*

I’m still working out the kinks on this website thing. It’s either going to be really cheesy, or it’s going to have to be a regular blog. I might just do a blogger blog for lack of something better. I’ll figure that out today.

*Ok, I figured it out. Just go to here, and it will take you to the baby blog. I was going to go the route, where you can password protect and all that garbage, but you can't put up links or anything. And it's really tacky with the baby wallpaper choices they give you. So no thanks. I'm not that big of a dork.*

Wednesday, March 16, 2005


Is it wrong that I want to start my registry now? I mean, I’m like, 5 whole weeks… That means I’m practically half way there. I want one of those carrier things that you strap your kid in like a front-wards backpack, and a really sweet diaper bag (not one of those tacky cartoony things), and books and books and books, oh and magazines, like Fit Pregnancy, and a car seat and a bassinette and a new house and a dog and a big yard… the list is endless. Can you register for a house? How about a dog?

Oh, there are lots of things going on E-Lo’s brain right now. Like, what the fuck am I doing? And, is this real? And especially, I don’t need my ass to get any bigger!

Alright, I’m making a website for this specifically. Of course all the uncensored shit will remain here, but I have to censor myself a little bit so my family can be part of this nifty internet thing too. I will post pictures and info and all that good stuff there. If you want the site, email me ( and I’ll give you the address and the password (it’s password protected to ward off weirdos, so if you’re a weirdo, don’t email me… don’t fuck with crazy preggo E-Lo or you will be forced to feel my wrath) since I’ll have all kinds of personal info there and what not. And my registry! Did I mention that I want to start my registry? Ok, I’ll give it a few weeks. But I’ll be looking at stuff in the meantime.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Baby Squirrels

Well, kids, if your boobs start growing for reasons unknown to you…
Chances are you’re pregnant.

Cause that’s what I am.

After a weekend of waiting it out, trying to see if my period was going to start or not (sorry, guys) I bought a pregnancy test yesterday. Here’s what it said: PREGNANT.


Yes, this is quite unplanned and quite unexplained (come on, I know how babies are made), however! I was on antibiotics last month. So let this be a lesson to you. Always use a back up if you are on antibiotics and the pill. And we thought we were safe. Feh.

But it’s cool. After a minor nervous breakdown yesterday afternoon, we went and told our parents, who were extremely excited, and our friends, who were also extremely excited. So it was exciting to see everyone else so happy and geared up about it. The fact that I never really thought of myself as mommy material kind of dissipated. I thought about my choices. There was only one, and I made it. So come November-ish, right around the time of my 3 year wedding anniversary, E-Lo will be the proud new mama of a little squirrel.

Oh, it’s a bit frightening, don’t get me wrong. My whole life is going to have to change. Me, the selfish, vain, self-centered person I am is going to have to kind of go away for the next 18 years. So when I’m about 46, I can be the same old E-Lo again.

I kid, of course. But I suppose unexplained things happen for a reason. Kismet (which incidentally also means “the will of Allah”).

I still have to go to the doctor and everything and make sure that all is well and figure out how far along I am and all that happy stuff that mothers-to-be are supposed to do. So I’ll let you all know, of course. In the meantime, I’m probably going to start a baby blog so my family and friends can follow along. I thought it would be a good idea to make that a separate entity since I really don’t want the majority of my family reading this blog. Please, like I want them to get bad ideas about the kind of mother I’m going to be!

Yeah, the whole Tae Kwon Do thing is not gonna happen. Lamaze class it is!

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Kung Fu Fighting

I’ve been trying to figure out a good way to get some exercise, other than my regular pilates routine. I mean, pilates is good stuff, but you need to do some cardio to really tone up. So I was talking to my friend the other night, and she mentioned that she went to a Tae Kwon Do class and was thinking about joining. Of course, my ears perked up at that. I used to kickbox and box, so that would be right up my alley. I never fought, I was terrified of sparring, but I think I could build up some courage to try it.

My kickboxing and boxing days were a way to bond with my dad. That was four years ago. My dad was a professional boxer in his 20s, and he was really good in his day, so I trained with him. He was also training a professional kickboxer for a fight who happened to own a gym, so he invited me to come work out there. We would do drills. You’d do three sets of jumping rope for a minute, then take a minute break. My first attempt at jumping rope was ridiculous. It was so hard. Then we’d hit the bags, which was my favorite part. Then people would spar, or if you were me, I just worked with my dad, hitting his mitts. I nearly knocked him out once with a wayward spinning back punch. He loves to tell that story.

It was awesome to be a part of something like that, although it was short-lived for my part since I moved away to go to grad school. It was a real community that everyone had a part in. I even quit smoking (that was the 5th time I quit). Since I didn’t want to fight, they asked me to be ring announcer for one of their big fights. Not to be confused with ring girls, the girls who carry the numbers around the ring in bikinis. No. I was the “lets get ready to rumble” person. It was fun, but I did have to overcome some major league shyness in order to do it. I mean, I wouldn’t even spar with people, and you want me to speak in a loud and funny voice on a microphone in a room with 500 people?

At any rate, I think I’m going to do the Tae Kwon Do thing. I already know the basics of fighting, so it shouldn’t be hard to catch on to the beginner stuff. I may be a little bit more squishy than I used to be, but that’s the point. Time to get tough again. Nobody fucks with the E-Lo.

My moment of zen today, courtesy of a woman I work with:
“That tsunami was like, if you took a glass of water and poured it over your desk and watched everything slide away.”
Um…no, not so much.

And yes, my husband has noticed my increasing breast size. He likes it. I’m wearing a thin sweater today, and to prevent unsightly nipplage I have a slightly padded bra on, which makes them look even bigger. It’s almost embarrassing.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Tuesday (Pre-menstrual) Shorts

I went to the store last night and bought anti-wrinkle cream. Mind you, it’s not the first time I’ve bought anti-wrinkle cream. But the other times that I bought it, I wasn’t on a mission. Last night I was on a mission to fight my fine lines. And the constellation of blemishes that are dancing across my cheek.

Every once in a while I forget how old I’m going to be on my next birthday. Does that happen to anyone else? I tend to make myself a year older. I was thinking, “am I really going to be 29?” No, I’m only 27. And the only reason I remembered that was that my birthday is on the 27th (of May, if you want to send presents… I’m kidding. Maybe.). I might have to start taking some Ginkgo biloba. That would probably solve my adult attention deficit also.

My boobs are enormous today. Last time I was in the bathroom I actually grabbed them to see if they feel as big as they look. They do. I’d blame it on my weight gain, but when I weighed myself a few days ago I only weighed 3 pounds more than usual. I think I just seem fatter to myself. It’s probably just a lack of daily movement that I was used to. And why is it that they hurt so much when it’s period time? Yesterday I felt like someone was using them as punching bags, but today they’re fine.

Speaking of punching bags, I watched the Contender last night and cried. Enough said.

Since I’ve had a lot more time to myself during the day, I’ve had a lot of time to focus on myself. My body image (not so good, except for today’s fabulous boobs), my face (I need a facial and some serious work done to my nose because I have a roadmap of broken capillaries around it), my marriage (my husband is my best friend, and I have a great marriage, if not a little rocky sometimes, but that’s mostly because of money, which is the stupidest reason to fight on earth), my religious beliefs (my biggest issue right now…I’m decidedly agnostic and most organized religion makes me intensely angry because of all the lies and hypocrisy and misogyny involved), and my friends (who I heart like family). It’s a serious thing, not being busy at your job. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve been neglecting myself and my thoughts.

I’d take a Midol, but I’d feel like I just smoked a joint. I'm trying to work here, people!

Friday, March 04, 2005

Super Squirrel

Our website at work has been down since yesterday morning, which means that I have no work to do. But I’m still AT work. I spent all of yesterday bidding on stuff on ebay (I got a great blue pea coat), writing random stuff, looking at other blogs, and anything to kill the time. Needless to say it went very slowly. I at least have an assignment now, but it’s one that isn’t going to last all day. So as much as I like my new job, it can be extremely boring when I have nothing to do. I’ll try not to complain too much, because I could be stuck behind a counter selling some cheap ass digital camera to some yahoo who thinks he knows everything.
I have a super power. I can instantly tune things out. Talk, I won’t listen. Just try to keep my attention. I bet you can’t. You know how I found out about this amazing ability to be a bad listener? My husband, aka Riz or Buddy, or Ryan Radio, which is his new “band name.” He can talk. He talks more than anyone I know. He talks on the phone probably 8 hours a day. It could be a full time job. Sometimes I want to send him to the phone company to be an operator or something, just so he can get paid for having his face glued to a phone. It makes me laugh sometimes, other times I just want to say, “dude, shut the fuck up.” But his band has a show coming up with a bunch of other bands. He set it up, he’s promoting it, he made pre-sell tickets, and fliers, and blah blah blah. In the 6 or so years we’ve been together, he’s always been in a band, but I’ve never seen him so excited and nervous about a show. And it’s all he talks about. If it’s not about his band, it’s about the other bands. And I completely tune it out. I don’t know how, I don’t even mean to most times. It’s instinctual. It’s like fight or flight, and I’m flying somewhere else. Of course, it’s not just him. I can do it with anyone. I completely missed at least 15 minutes of an hour and a half meeting last week.

With great power comes great responsibility, or so they say in Spiderman. Sometimes my power to tune out makes me miss a lot. “Don’t you remember me telling you to pick me up a newspaper on your way over?” That’s my mom. I get a lot of “don’t you remember I told you…” Whoops.

I have to learn to control my powers.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Pudgy E-Lo (or this Squirrel Girls Winter Coat)

Those who know me know that I’m a completely narcissistic person. Especially my husband, who observes my grooming habits first hand. I blame my vanity on my family. My mom and dad are the same way, they primp, they trim, they curl. From years of observing them and being primped, trimmed and curled by them, now I must be clean, well-dressed, made-up and styled before I will consider leaving my house. There are some small exceptions to this of course. There have been many days when I’ve left for work unshowered because I woke up late, but I always manage to put on a bit of make-up and pull my hair back. I’ve gotten my routine down to not exceed 30 minutes most days, 45 if I have extra time to waste. Because believe me, I am a person who likes to take time doing things for myself. Unless it involves exerting myself, because I’m inherently lazy. Namely, exercise.

So you can imagine my dismay as I’ve begun to notice some extra poundage on myself… mainly around the lower half. I don’t know if it’s been there for a while and I’ve just noticed it since I’ve been spending a major part of my day on my ass instead of on my feet, or if it’s slowly creeping on whilst I am on my ass. At any rate, I look down in my chair and see the makings of quite a jelly belly and well-insulated thighs.

Of course I did it to myself. For months now (since Christmas) I’ve had an unending supply of chocolate, beer, pop, all sorts of sugary goodness. And I love it. I can’t live without it. It makes me happy… but looking at my waistline makes me very unhappy. On my dad’s side, all the women (and men) are skinny, and on my mom’s side all of the women are womanly. My brother is the skinny one, and I’m the womanly one. Thank god for that, at least for my brother’s sake. So, genetically I’m predispositioned to have a womanly figure. A breeding woman’s figure. Well, I’m not a breeding woman, nor do I plan to be anytime soon. So you can see where this is leading. Goddamnit. I have to start exercising. I have to not eat chocolately num nums all day. Crap. This sucks.

My pants are too tight, and not in a good way (Baroness can relate). So that’s where I draw the line. I did an hour of pilates and yoga last night, and every part of my body is sore. I still had sugar in my coffee this morning. I’m not quite ready for the withdrawal headaches.

I’m such a girl.