I’m quite sure my co-workers think I’m a closet
alcoholic. I’m not kidding.
I’m still very early in my pregnancy and it’s
the first one after our loss, so of course I’m a barrel of nerves which means
every time I feel a twinge or a tweak or something more graphic than that I
hightail it to the ladies room with a mysterious bulge in my sweater pocket (no,
it’s not a flask it’s my cell phone). Which of course everything shows to be
status quo and I tell myself “Dude, you need to chill out.” Well, that’s until
20 minutes later and I feel something else and just repeat the cycle. Adding the
supplement to the game has just caused more of this.
I’m not complaining.
Believe me, I’m so not complaining. I will run to the ladies room every 20
minutes for the next 9 months if I have to, but I’m sure at some point an
intervention is going to be held in our Office Administrator’s office. I imagine
it will be something to the effect of “L, a lot of people are very concerned
about your behavior.” I mean, it’s not like she can say “Look lady are you a
lush or do you have IBS? Which is it?” She’s a nice person so it would be nice.
She’d probably hand me some pamphlet full of information about alcoholism and AA
and all that. I’m sure when I leave for the day someone goes through my drawers
looking for my flask. I should add one just for kicks. Little does anyone know
that I never drink. No really, I don’t. I drank on our trip and that was
probably one of the first times this year. I’ve never been fond of the drink.
I almost want to change Offspring’s nickname to Lush or Alchie.
Something to remind me that people seriously think I have an issue. It probably
doesn’t help that a couple of times when I’ve ran to the ladies room, and
thought I was alone in there, I’ve let out a “whew, thank goodness, I’m just
losing my mind.” Then of course I hear the toilet flush, my hand promptly slaps
over my mouth and I sit perfectly still trying not to breathe as if that is
going to reverse what I just said. No, I’m okay, just thankful that blood isn’t
pooling in my undies, no big deal, carry on.
So why do I think that
people think I might have an issue? Almost every time I come back from the
ladies room someone is staring at me like “Oh that poor thing, 28 years old and
already throwing her life away to the drink. Pity.”
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