Mom: "How do you feel?"
Me: "I feel great."
Mom: "No morning sickness?"
Me: "Nope." Course, I don't tell her that 1/2 a beer cures all sickness, morning, noon or night.
Mom: (Inaudible) Something about if there was a god in heaven, fairness, etc.
Me: "I have to admit, thought that I've been tired." I relay to her my reluctant admission that if I was doing the incubation thing AND the 9 to 5 thing I would be a sad, sorry, zombie beast. "In Sunday between my nap on the couch and the following nap in bed, I stare into space for half an hour and I wondered: Am I depressed? Is this was depression feels like?"
Mom: (After the snorting, honking and gasping that passes for laughter in these situations)"No Jenny, you idiot, you're not depressed. You're pregnant. You'll snap out of it soon. And then you'll be on fire."
Mom: "I'm kinda afraid to see you on fire again."
Me:(Inherited cackle) I'll probably start another business! Cool!"
Mom: "Oh no. Maybe you should get back on the couch..."
That was yesterday. A day in which I was damn near ecstatic all day. A day in which I got a ton done. A day on which my butt hole was a bit sore (for a different post).
And today was similarly super-charged!
To quote Buffy (from Once More With Feeling) "I want the fire back!"