I did it, I joined stuff. There was Wordless Wednesday, Scrolling Saturdays and Weekly Winners. But, you know, I’m just too all over the place for those groups. The commitment was killing me.

I’m not a stress-free blogger. If I don’t post for a day, I feel weird about it, guilty, even. If I join a thing and then post at the last second or heaven forbid, not at all, it’s really a bad feeling. Like learning that the box of chocolates was just for decoration and the goodness that was inside, was inside a long time ago. Yes, that bad a feeling.

So I quit.

But, I do take a couple hundred photos a week. Mostly of Isobel’s butt in action and her making the exact same faces. You know, that angry, there’s sand in my vagina kind of face.

Thus, I present the first installment of Zoeyjane’s Daily Maybe Photo:

No, really. That’s a happy face.

I got a solid 6.5 hours of sleep last nighy. I’m feeling much more terrestrial today. And I’m hopping onto another bandwagon:

This excerpt of a post is from five days after I found out I was pregnant with Isobel:

I must admit, it’s pretty freaky having this… Alien inside of me.

This has honestly become a quite momentous week - and I wouldn’t repeat it for a million dollars.

Starting on Tuesday, I could barely contain shouting it, telling random strangers, and not using it as an excuse to be as uber-bitchy as I love being. Instead, Wednesday came. A few more people knew, and I started feeling… less concerned about miscarriage. Why?

• constant vomiting;
• constant vomiting while being hungrier than I’ve ever been in my whole life (and I’ve fasted for more than 8 days, before);
• constant vomiting and hunger while wanting the really weird foods (tuna slathered in pickles, mayo and mustard, anyone? how about white toast with melted hersey’s kisses or that Lipton onion soup that people use as a recipe ingredient?);
• constant yada yada yada while virtually passing out with any movement; and
• constant blah blah blah, coupled with dog nose - the ability to smell anything, anywhere, as long as it’s something that will:
  • make me vomit;
  • make me need to eat; or
  • make me mourn for a beer/caesar/screwdriver/anything illegal in powdered form.

Two days of this and I took Thursday and Friday off of work, stopping in to cry at my doctor’s office. They said I was supposed to go on bed rest starting Wednesday, why wasn’t I? Someone at work didn’t give me the message.

I have dangerously low blood pressure (explains the constant need for soup, Mr. Noodles, chips and crackers), which is making my pre-existing heart condition worse. Basically, everytime that I stand up, my blood pressure spikes negatively, and that helps my heart to skip a beat or two.

So, I guess I shouldn’t worry as much about miscarriage during these next couple of months, since the baby has already taken over. I know I’ll be fine, and even if I didn’t know that, I still wouldn’t change the path that I’m on. After all of the practice rounds I’ve had, I’m not able to forfeit this game.

If you wanna come aboard Scrolling Saturdays, clink on the bling, above.