All Hail the One Pump Chump

So, I've been getting hate mail from people because my old reliable daily entry has turned into more of a bi-weekly to when-I-feel-like-it thing.

"Are you getting lazy?" they ask. "Are you busy?"

Well, yes and yes. But there is a much bigger story at hand, and frankly, it was making me feel like a big bloated liar not being able to write about it until, well, now. "Now" being that I've hit week 12. Where, apparently, you can heave an enormous sigh of relief because the chance of miscarriage drops to a very, VERY small possibility. Because, yes, that's right ladies and germs! - I'm officially knocked up. The parasite has entered the building.

The other reason writing hasn't been tops on my to-do list (besides the whole Holy Shit We're Going to Be Parents Exorcistic Freakfest happening daily here at The Tam + Varmint household) is that I've been feeling a wee bit under the weather. Not the sprint-to-the-bathroom sort of sick so many brave lassies out there have had to endure during their pregnancies, but more of a perpetual state of queasiness. The Everquease, I call it.

With The Everquease, you're operating at 40%, are more often horizontal than vertical, and spend most of your time trying to avoid bad smells and think of food that won't trigger your *urp-fuuuugh!* gag reflex. Until last week I lived on a diet of Perrier, hard-boiled eggs and yogurt. My secret weapons against hurling? Graham crackers and dumping my meds.

Anyway, as many of my highly-supportive, if somewhat overly-enthusiastic friends will tell you: I've not exactly been thrilled with the whole having-a-kid-thing quite yet. I'm no glowing Earth mama, or beatific and self-satisfied woman feeling her purpose in life has been found.

Nope. I'm still more in the "Oh...my...God" phase. But more on that later. Right now, I gotsta run. My fabulous gal pal Donna just pulled up for one of her muchly coveted drive-bys and we've got gabbing to do, people. But I promise: Now that the cat's out of the bag, I can write honestly (and therefore more regularly) again. Huzzah!


Disclaimer: The Varmint has asked me to clarify the title of this entry. He is not a "One Pump Chump" in the commonly-used sense of the term; rather he knocked me up the first time out, which is only a testament to his manliness and virility, confirming the fact that he is, indeed, a total love god and undisputed sex-machine.


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I am a writer and lazy artist who loves travel, architecture and design. Right now, I'm into photography. My fabulous husband (a.k.a. The Varmint) and I are also the principals of a San Diego-based creative agency - and new parents to the divine Baby Mak. Read More >