Nice shoes, lady! or, a blog about vomit.

I'm pregnant.

I feel that this would have been obvious to the average person who knew me pretty well and saw me on a day to day basis -- if you had been working with me for the last two months, you would have undoubtedly noticed that I (1) stopped wearing all high heels and (2) stopped wearing anything with a waist, and (3) perhaps the most obvious -- I am not drinking coffee like it's a life support system.*

This means, of course, that I'm down to five outfits and three pairs of shoes. Maybe my new coworkers think I'm poor. Or that I don't care what I look like. I mean, they've seen me on wild hair mornings when I just don't have the energy to dry my hair -- or when I think the hair dryer might make me hurl.

You know, pregnancy is teaching me a great deal of humility. I had to tell my boss earlier than I intended for a number of reasons, most notably that the fall schedule was already being created and because I figured I should tell him in case somewhat reports that I am frequently in the ladies' ralphing.

The problem ultimately is (if you'll let me whine) that people are really happy for me. And I'm really happy, too -- but all I can feel right now is sick. Like I have the stomach flu all the time. So when someone comes up to me and is really overjoyed and says, "CONGRATULATIONS!" mostly all I can come up with is a wan smile.

Seriously, folks -- I will do an overwhelmingly gooey, happy, overjoyed post. Just as soon as toothpaste stops being disgusting. Promise.

*I swear Starbucks is going to send my husband a condolence card soon.