Ready

I love Brian and I love spending time with Brian. I love everything we do together.... but man is he a siphon! I have zero desire to do anything that requires leaving his side. I am sure that is how I ended up with child, but that's not exactly the point. I have no desire to work out. I have no desire to track. No desire to clean the house or cook a fancy meal. I have no desire to get dressed or to do my hair/makeup or to even take a shower.

I just want to cuddle. 24/7. To the point that if we are in separate rooms, I get antsy. Angry. Defensive.

I'm ready for him to go back to work.

I'm ready for some me time again.

I'm ready to start going to the fitness center and getting on the elliptical. I'm ready to spend hours doing hair and makeup for the hell of it. I'm ready to clean the house and cook a meal "because Brian will be home soon"

I really miss those days.

Tuesday, he starts work. 3.5 hours.

He tells me he will go to the fitness center with me, and bless him, he does if I ask. But it's just not the same. I can't get into the zone with him there. He doesn't like to work out and he lifts weights for maybe 10 minutes and then plays on his phone the whole time.

To give the man a lot of credit, he does get me out of the house a lot. And we do lots of fun things together. We have a lot of similar hobbies... its just I sort of forget why I am on this journey of healthy living (can't call it weight loss any more... Not supposed to lose weight when you're pregnant!)

It's almost Monday now.


We had kind of a scare today in our apartment. We live on the third floor in the front of the building. A lady started screaming and yelling as loud as she could, sobbing and shouting "Get off of me!" and "Don't you touch me!" as loud as she could... so naturally I thought she was being raped/beaten and I go out to see what is going on. Brian followed me, of course (thank God) and I find its coming from an apartment on the second floor, in the back of the building (diagonal from us) I summoned all my courage and knocked on the door. A man answers the door. I take in his features as I call into the apartment. "Ma'am? Is everything okay?" The man answered me and said everything was fine. I give him a dirty look that plainly said "I'm not talking to you." I repeated to the woman and she said "No ma'am I am not alright." I asked if she would like me to call the police. Then her story changed. Suddenly she was alright. And she was just scared. I asked her why she was scared but got no answer. I said "if you're sure everything's alright, could you keep it down?" and left.
Our neighbor, who lives right above her, an older grizzled man came running out of his apartment phone in hand. I asked him, "does this happen often?" And he said "no, its the first time. I was about to call the police." I told him we would take care of that, since I had a description of the suspect.

Actually Brian called.
I wrote down their descriptions in case I forgot.
I watched the apartment for the police to arrive.

The man left.

The police came and talked to the lady, I guess. And they left too. They had our apartment number but didn't come to talk to us or anything.

I know I did the right thing by calling the police. One thing I cannot stand is domestic violence. For the man, for being such an asshole. For the woman, for being a dumbass and putting up with that shit. I don't get it. And I don't care. Even if she was 'over-reacting' (over reacting my ass! The woman had a blood curdling scream!) the police still needed to be involved, since she was disturbing the peace. Screaming like her life depended on it and then suddenly changing her tune when I asked to call the police is really fishy to me. >:( But all that can be done has been done. I missed out on my nap.

It was simultaneously the bravest thing and the stupidest thing I have ever done. Brave, because I stood up for what was right. Stupid, because, well.... I'm pregnant and that idiot might have had a gun. I won't be doing it again. And yeah, my door is always locked. Thank God for the police.