Where am I?

I know, I know...I've been a pretty sucky blogger lately.

I don't know where I went. I feel like before I got my BFP, I had a lot more...personality or something. I saw humor in things, I had spirit and attitude and a zest for life. Now I feel like all of those personality traits have fallen into the background and have been replaced with one all-consuming feeling: SCARED.

First off, let me just say that as far as I know, things are OK with the pregnancy. Today I hit 11 weeks, which according to The Bump means the Baby J is about the size of a lime.

Now let's talk about why I don't WANT to talk.

I've been feeling hopeful, which has me terrified. I feel like I don't have the right to be hopeful.

I feel terribly superstitious about EVERYthing. My pants and clothes are tightening up due to bloating, lack of exercise and the blessed progesterone. The other day I even walked into a maternity store at the mall to look for a belly band of some kind, but had to leave after I felt like I was going to have a panic attack. I just knew that as soon as I bought something directly related to being pregnant and took it home with me, something would go wrong and I would end up bursting into tears every time I saw it again.

The closest I was able to come was yesterday, when I bought three shift-like dresses that will be super cool and comfortable to wear to work and around town during the summer. Stretchy knit dresses are really ALL I want to wear right now.

I was going to write about how last Thursday, June 16, would have been my first appointment with the RE if I hadn't gotten pregnant. But I couldn't. I could only imagine writing that post and then having to call her the next day for another new patient appointment.

I should write about how I haven't had any bleeding, any at all since my last post, but I know I can't since I might be jinxing myself. (I went to the bathroom right after writing this and was SURE I was going to see blood).

Tomorrow I have two back-to-back appointments: one with my OB and one with the MFM (high risk pregnancy specialist). In a way, this is a good thing, because by the time I get the first appointment over with I will know where I stand and won't have to be as nervous for the second appointment.

So that Mr. M. doesn't have to take off work, my grandmother (who is for all intensive purposes my mom) is going with me. She has never been able to do the whole "see the baby on the ultrasound" thing so she is excited. I am just hoping everything is still fine. Especially hoping that the sac around the baby has grown like it was supposed to. *fingers crossed*

And now, time for a [RANT]:
My husband is lazy. I know this and have always known this. He works long hours at a stressful job and like nothing better than to come home in the evening and collapse on the couch with his Xbox.

Now. I'm pregnant. I'm high risk. I'm supposed to take it easy. But he is doing next to nothing to help me pick up the slack. The first time I ask him to do something, he'll kind of roll his eyes and agree to do it (in a humorous way, not an aggressive way). But the more I remind him, the more pissy he gets, until when he finally gets around to doing it when it's all dramatic sighs and bad attitude.

It makes me want to kill him.

I was off work Monday, and used the time to tidy and clean the house. I'm talking dusting, cleaning countertops and windows, etc. I cannot STAND when the house is messy and it certainly adds to me stress.

Yesterday, AFTER working a full day, I went to the grocery store even though he is technically supposed to go with me so I don't have to lift heavy things. I unloaded the groceries from the car, put them all away, put a steak in to marinade and asked him to please unload and re-load the dishwasher "some time tonight." He said okay. A little while later, I cooked dinner then cleared all the plates. I am totally exhausted, but I don't want to remind him because then he'll just sulk. My grandmother is coming to stay with us so the kitchen really needed to be clean. So at 10:15, I went into the kitchen and very calmly started doing the work. I wasn't sulking, or clanging things around - I just wanted it done so I figured I needed to do it myself. About two minutes later he comes storming in and snarls, "I'll DO the dishes," and starts "helping," which meant throwing things into drawers, clanging them around and having SUCH a bad attitude that I finally told him to go away.

He went to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed with his hand over his eyes (he is SUCH a drama queen) and later apologized in a very passive-aggressive, "Well, I'm sorry I made you mad and I'm such a horrible husband." AND HERE COME THE SWEEPING DRAMATIC STATEMENTS, FOLKS.

I was so. Mad. He simply CANNOT continue to be this selfish and lazy. I am super stressed already and he is just. Not. Helping Me. Especially if we have an actual child, he is going to have to man up, grow some balls and help me without bitching and whining about it like a freaking three year old. Does he not realize how unattractive that is in a grown, successful man? Sure, you can THINK those whiny, "why me?" thoughts, but actually saying them out loud is just...juvenile.

I was planning on cooking dinner for Mr. M. and Grandma tonight, but I called her and said I just want to go out to dinner with her. I need a break from him. I grew up an only child and very much appreciate space and alone time, of which I have NONE. He never leaves me alone and is always...there. It would be the same with ANY person I spent this much time around - I need some time to be alone and to breathe.

[END OF RANT]

If you made it all the way through that whole post, you are a rock star. Thank you for hanging in there with me!

Fingers crossed, prayers said, love and light sent, etc. for me tomorrow, please! I will update as soon as I know something.