Martha Focker. This HAS NOT been a good night. G is in the hospital. She and the baby aren't doing so well. Of course, consequently, those of us that care about them aren't doing so well, either. I don't know how anyone else is dealing with this, but I can tell you what's up in here.
I want to eat. I want carbs, sugar, grease, salt... Anything but a raw or steamed veggie. Deep fried cheddar cheese filled soft pretzels sound perfect. So does pie. Any pie. And HoHos. And chocolate covered pretzels, but only the thinner ones with lots of salt on them. If I eat the way my stress is directing me to, by the time the baby is born G and I will BOTH have baby weight to lose FROM THE SAME BABY. Hell, if he stays in there long enough, I may need gastric bypass by the time he sees daylight. I certainly hope he's in there long enough for that.
There is nothing I can do to help her (or him, for that matter). I have enough nervous energy to run to California and back, but I can't think of a way to make it useful because my brain is too scattered. The only thing I know to do is pray. I suppose it's the most powerful thing I can do, also, but it just seems like words right now. I want to do something concrete; something I can see. Something I can hear. Something that puts this nervousness to good use.
Shit. I'll probably just end up making elaborate cupcakes and then eating them. Jenny Craig, I'll put you on speed dial.
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