exhausted and comatose..that's where you'll find me

I spend most of my days somewhere being exhausted and comatose. Waking up tired is chic and my appreciation for all things take out has returned. My inner Martha Stewart folds and creases endless pages with great sales ideas and all the stupendous projects I am going to tackle..tomorrow. I have notebooks to organize my notepads and lying in bed nightly solve the problems of small countries . I condemn the laundry with a stern look and refuse to be lured by it’s continual growth, setting an alarm on my blackberry to check out full service wash dry fold places.
Daily I cart my gym bag to work, remembering how great I felt two months ago when I slipped on my Nikes. More energy, more stamina, and no droopy butt. However, lunch is infinitely more enticing and what’s 20 stinkin minutes on the bike going to do anyway? My body continues to shape shift in preparation for baby landing aka birth. Potato sacks and burlap soon will be my only viable options, as the breasts continue to make their case for soverign nation status. I spend whole hours staring at black and white grainy ultrasounds, fascinated by my baby boys face already. I cry for everything and nothing, laugh and talk to my stomach knowing I am heard.I dig in my daughter's ears in public, lick my finger to get dirt off her face, and just like that, I am my mother.
Pregnancy brain loss surfaces when I return to the parking garage clueless about my car's location. Sexy underwear left with my waistline and in it's place a worn Sox jersey and my used to be too big sweats. I'm officially hot.I scroll through my 12 year old daughter’s phone contacts and come across my own name saved under mom. And just like that, I am cured for the moment, from the over everything and underliving blues. At least until tomorrow.