The worst thing about insomnia

Is that it's so unproductive. I'm up at 2 am to pee, and no matter how soundly I was sleeping, it's all over at that point. I'm too tired to give my ragged feet a pedicure or grade that mile-high stack of papers I brought home, but once it's daytime, I will be dead from lack of sleep so I won't get anything done then either. Insomnia is lose-lose.

So I'm up now, thinking about not only the gangly feet and ungraded papers, but the four shots Sascha's getting in the morning. The text messages I never answered yesterday. On the scale of human suckage, where do I fall for not doing Christmas cards this year? Is that the equivalent of giving everyone the finger? And if there is a scale of human suckage, with Spencer Pratt being a ten, who would be a one? Maybe I should start addressing cards next summer. The song from Sesame Street where these pigs sing the alphabet with "oink" in between each letter. Why I am so tense all the time. How I looked in the mirror in my underwear earlier today, and what kind of lighting-renovation genius it would take to make that a less scary image. This cool lesson I want to do next month.

Whether I am still pregnant.

Yesterday, still basking in the glow of Christmas morning, I started spotting. I tried to stay calm about it by shoveling anything edible in sight into my mouth (oh, how I wish I was one of those normal, dainty girls who can't eat when she's upset) and literally pacing the floor, although not enough to burn off 142 cookies. Later that afternoon, we went to our friends' house for dinner. I went to the bathroom and it was a lot more than just spotting. When I came out, I felt shaky and pale and freaked the hell out, but it was Christmas dinner and we had just arrived and there were a few people I didn't know very well, and everyone's all chuckly and the Sinatra's playing, so I had to roll with it. In a turn of spectacularly bad timing, at that very moment my friends' mothers started ooh-ing and ahh-ing about me being pregnant-- when are you due, how do you feel, and so on. I am such a bad liar, so I wanted to say "well as of two minutes ago, I'm not pregnant anymore... can someone pass the wine?" But I shrugged and stumbled my way through the fakest-sounding answers, feeling like one of those women from the Lifetime movies who lies about being pregnant to get attention. I escaped to the other room where I had a chance to talk to my dad about it. He told me how common it is and that the amount of blood doesn't make a difference, which made me optimistic enough to function through the rest of the night.

Sascha just so happens to have a doc appt this morning (hey, only five sleepless hours from now)-- see mental torture about the shots-- and it's right across the hall from the OB office. If I can get someone to see me on the fly, I'll find out for sure.

I guess this wouldn't bother me as much if I actually felt pregnant. I had a week or two of excessive tired, but then I rebounded. My boobs have stopped hurting. Of course they're still the size of Texas, but that could just as easily be from all of my stress eating. And I've only had a few thirty-second episodes of nausea, which is really no different from normal. I don't feel pregnant.

I wonder what's on TV at this hour.