Restlessness

One of the many reasons I both love pregnancy and wish it were over already is the need to Do Something.  At first, I could chalk it up to the season change - from the first moment I start feeling the approach of spring in the slant of the sun, I get restless.  I have sudden, desperate urges to go out and be social, to rearrange the living room, to write the next smash hit, to move to a new state, to totally redefine my self.  Except my spring fever always goes away by April.  By then, spring is here (at least as far as sunlight is concerned) and I no longer feel cramped by winter or my stupid Seasonal Affective Disorder.  This time, though, here we are halfway through May and it's getting more intense as time goes on.  I've been tasting summer on the wind, and oh my gosh, but that need to go swimming won't go away!  The apartment pool opens in ten days, and I lament multiple times every day that I don't have the extra funds to buy myself a pregnancy bathing suit.  Argh!

I don't know if this is nesting.  I don't know if it's based on the forward motion of my life.  I'm taking 12 credits this summer which end 9 days before my due date, and I can't wait!  I even hope it's hard.  I'm a little more trepidatious (blogger is telling me that's not a word, but I've heard it in something before and I like it, so I'm gonna use it) about fall semester, what with my hopefully 19 credits, a new baby, and a husband with a demanding full-time job.  (And whether or not it might be better to graduate in May, instead, simply so we have guaranteed insurance until then...but the thought of that makes something inside me scream in frustration, so I'm gonna lean toward not...)  I just finished a semester wherein I actually raced to get my work done instead of procrastinating, and then got annoyed there wasn't more to do.  Part of it, I know, is the pregnancy, be it hormones or the simple act of getting a part of my life on the track I want it.  But all of it?  I don't know.  I would like to think I'm finally fed up with things enough to change them.  I guess I won't really know until after the berrykin's born.

My classes don't start until 6/7.  When I discovered that yesterday, I got rather annoyed.  I thought they started this coming Monday, but no.  Now I have to find something else to do with those intervening two weeks.  Gag!  I think I unconsciously decided to bake.  Or cook.  Or...something quaintly domestic.  I made pizza from scratch last night.  My dough was totally not enough for a whole pizza, but oh well.  It tasted yummy.  I'm currently listening to the whir of my breadmaker for the first time ever, despite having owned it for, you know, ten years or so.  (Word to the wise: If you move to a humid climate, make sure you open up all covered appliances from time to time.  Otherwise, they get to smelling REALLY NASTY.)  I would really like to take up breadmaking by hand at some point in the future; it seems like it would be a lovely stress reliever, plus add a sense of accomplishment to one's day.  But my feet and ankles hurt enough from standing in the kitchen figuring out how to use the breadmaker that I think the sort of standing involved in actual kneading is probably best left until after Berrykin and after a bit of weight loss.  I dream of a day when we eat as close to self-sufficiently as possible.  I don't know that I will go so far as to kill and pluck my own chickens (though women who do are brave souls indeed), but I was raised with my dad's big veggie garden in the backyard by a mom who majored in Home Ec, made a good chunk of our clothes, cooked a lot (while she still only had a couple kids to worry about, anyway), made jelly, and generally filled me with a great admiration for all things homemade.  (Maybe that's why Girl Scouts was so boring while I found Chazberry's Cub Scouts so much more fun.  *They* got to make birdhouses.  We just talked about how to be good "girls" and proselytized the Way of the Cookie, neither of which I was ever very good at.)  I'm making cookies on Friday, after my glucose test.

Which reminds me...no more fruit, juice, or sugar from now until then.  Boo.  I was only four points high on my 1-hour last time, which was lame.  So my doc told me to watch the sugar in my diet for two or three days prior to the test.  Not cut it out entirely, obviously, as that would skew the results, but to make sure to hold off on those sugariest delights (look at me, I'm making up all kinds of words today!) until after the test.  So I had strawberries with lunch, and those shall be my last excessive sugar until the test.  I don't mind cutting it out...I DO hate figuring out what to eat that isn't sweet.  (For instance, I've made this delightful bread, and I just realized I'm not going to be able to eat it.  Crap!  It's molasses honey oat.  I've been wanting to make it for weeks, so I didn't even think about it.  Major boo on my pregnant brain!)

And now that I have posted long-windedly, I need to find something else to do for 45 minutes until the Jeremelon comes home.  His brother is treating us to dinner at the bestest Chinese restaurant ever (looks like egg drop soup and sesame chicken, since I can't have sweet.  Oh crap!  I can't dunk my Divine Cheese Wantons in their partner Ambrosia Sweet and Sour Sauce.  Noooooooooo!).  Which is nice, because I don't have to figure out what to feed us (it's nice in other ways, too, but that's the dominant reason right now.  Hee).  Perhaps I shall attempt to work on my Soopr Sekrit Facebook Project, my endeavor to put Facebook to work for my interests, rather than t'other way 'round.  Or maybe I'll read.  Or spy on my bread.  Or clean.  Bleh.  So many choices, so little enthusiasm...