22 Weeks and Counting

My uterus and back end are getting bigger by the day. I can't say that I am comfortable at all with any kind of weight gain, but that hasn't tanked my desire for slim jims and girl scout cookies either. Nor has it motivated me to move at all. The end result is extra large and not too pretty. I need to start exercising... I was on the phone in the supermarket last night, and the end result of cart pushing and talking left me breathless. NOT GOOD. I am living my "before" photo.

Enjoli Perfume and My Consciousness

This commercial was all over the bigassed TV set we had back in the day. Essentially, the point is that you will be self-actualized and smell good if you are a "wooooman" who can provide monetarily for her family, administrate an excellent bacon-based meal, and have quality sexy times with one's spouse. It matched the cultural phenomenon of the time, with women increasingly going to work and maintaining a high standard at home as well. I remember my mother wearing mannish tailored suits, her floppy flowered scarf-tie the only concession to femininity. This was the expectation for the 1980s power-broker female, and one of the first gender role models I had.

After Barbie. But let's not go there.

So this is what I am trying to accomplish. Everything else in my life was seemingly in place when I got pregnant. I had the successful career in emergency medicine, the attractive physician spouse, a dream home being built, friends and family involved in my life, and a new dedication to running with a little weight loss on the side. Then the clomid kicked my right ovary into function, and here I am wearing a too-tight pink sweatshirt with a boston terrier on the front, and only one sock. I am also too tired to motivate, so I am typing instead. At the end of the day, I hope that I am going to end up smelling good.