Constantchange

The first cold day of Autumn

It was colder than I thought it would be this morning, and as a result I'm doomed to be a little chilly all day. Autumn creeps up so slowly on us here in Atlanta that I am always a little surprized when, one day, I wake up and it's not quite as warm as I thought it might be. The climate here spoils me with so much sunshine.

The past few weekends have been crammed. Both my mother and the husband's parents have been visiting. My mother has a steady boyfriend now, and he seems nice enough. I have realized that I am too old to get a step-dad. My sisters, should my mom re-marry, will have a step-dad, but I am simply too old for one; while I hope my mom finds a new partner that makes her happy, I am past the sort of serious influence a dad might have. Things in that arena remain complicated.

The husband's parents came down for a stay and we went out to eat a number of times. And I realized that I have an inner teenager that mightily resists being told what to do. I *like* my husband's parents, but if I had grown up in their houshold I promise you I'd have a faceful of piercings and a mohawk. A green mohawk. Seriously.

Probably I am feeling resistant to authority because everyone keeps telling me to take naps and put my feet up, and every time this happens, I can feel a devil pop up over my left shoulder. That little devil says things like: "Name the baby Damien and embroider pentacles on the nursery gear." Because I am forced to be so conventional lately, because I am pushed into this weakened pregnant-lady state, I crave shock value suddenly. I even understand pregnant teens who smoke now. They probably didn't want to be pregnant, but finding themselves in that role, show their definance the only way they know how, by smoking, the most shocking act a pregnant lady in the U.S. can committ. It's horrible. But they'll do it anyway to show that they are in control of their bodies.

I am not in control of my body. I'm still throwing up, thanks to Hyperemesis. I had a few tubes of blood taken from me again this week, both for the AFP test, and to try and figure out why I'm still heaving all the goddamn time. The next visit to the doctor will be the high-resolution scan, where we can see the baby's face; hopefully, the kid won't flash us, and I can continue not to know the gender. Not knowing, so far, has been the best part.