Speak Clearly. Think Clearly. Huh?

I have about two weeks left of being a host to a creature that kicks me, causes my sciatic nerve to torment me, and my food to often reappear at inopportune intervals. In the meantime I have gotten used to people looking at me funny. Tonight was no exception.

I approached the checkout desk at Border's Bookstore and plopped a Clive Cussler book on cd and two P.C. Cast novels onto the stand. "Is this not on sale?" I asked the unattractive woman who had spent too many hours at the front desk. Her hair stood on end - her eyes flashed with contempt of shoppers and her breasts sagged from the effort of trying to run away from her offending personality.

"I don't know," she said oh-so-helpfully.

"Well - okay," I said, trying to hide my disdain of her ways. I worked in retail for YEARS and even at my worst "I hate all customers" time - I was still a pleasure to behold. Or at least I'd like to think so.

"No, it's not on sale."

"Well, can you check my card and see if I have a five dollar coupon on there?"

"No, you don't."

"Well, I'll just go ahead and take it then," I sighed. I was fed up with her "helping" and I just wanted to go home and sit on a heating pad to make my leg stop hurting.

"What?" she stared at me blankly.

"I said I'll go ahead and take it."

"You want the book on cd?" she seemed confused by my lack of ability to convey that I WANTED THE DAMN BOOK.

"Am I saying it funny? Are things not coming out right?" I asked my sister, who, unfortunately seemed to confirming sasquatch's confusion.

"Youwantthebook?" she asked me in her non-pausing fashion and patted me like a kid who couldn't make up her mind between Sour Patch Kids or Sour Worms in the candy store.

"Seriously? Did I not just say that I did?" I was incredulous.

"No, youweren'tmakingsense," Summer said and pushed my other books forward.

"Well, huh," I said, pulling out my credit card and handing it to Hateful Eyes.

"This pregnancy thing sucks," I continued while walking out of the store.

So on top of my other maladies - I can now add the inability to talk real good to peoples either.

Yay.

Pregnant Pauses

Last Friday I went to my Physical Therapist. I was wearing nice jeans with a stretchy maternity panel and a cute baby-bump showing sweater with an empire waist and lowcut enough that my milky milkjugs were so far on display that I could barely see my feet. I had even put on cute dangling black earrings to match my sweater and a chunky black bracelet.

The only thing I was missing was - my feet.

They were still wrapped from knee to toe in gauze, cotton, foam and bedecked in a pair of navy blue and white velcro-strapped faux footwear substitutes.

I wanted them off. OFFFFF!

So when my box arrived stating its contents were "For My Swelling Solutions" - I was uber-excited and made my appointment as soon as possible. The garments - two pair - were as varied as can be. The stockings that I had so wished for were "Suntan" which, for those of you in the know, is the exact shade of "Old Lady Brown" or "Hooters Girl Jiggle." They were thick, scratchy and hells-a-ugly. And I loved them. The other pair were large and looked like potholders - but for feet. So - should I ever be able to make and enjoy baked goods again, I could use my black, quilted legs to get them out of the oven. :)

They come with a spandex oversleeve and, once put on, appear more Uggboot-like than Hockey goalie -but a comparison could be made. These Lymphedema control garments will hold me in during the day - with a compression of 50 during the day - and 50 at night.

And even though both of these are as about as ugly as ugly can be - and my vain side screams when I think of sandal-weather and my gorgeous (useless) Mary Jane collection - I will grin and bear it.

Harry and his grandmother took me out to dinner at The Chop House the next day after my stocking-fitting to eat jovially since I could now wear real people shoes again. I was feeling quite good about my return to the pages of plus-sized prego fashion so when the tiny lady to my left grabbed my hand and begin lavishing me with compliments, I was glowing - both with motherhood and with the ease of basking in the love of an old, wise woman.

"You don't even look pregnant! I mean, you can't even tell! If someone didn't know you were pregnant - well - they'd just think you were just LARGE!"

Ah, yes - the wisdom of old age. Not only can it backhand you with an open-palmed compliment, but it can knock the wind out of your sails so fast that even months of hard-leg-wrapping work can prepare you for the fact that no matter how hard one tries to put vanity behind her - the non-filtered views of the old will always make you feel like a cow.

Who then ate an entire piece of cheesecake.

Thank God for fast-acting insulin shots!

Ugh.