Even when I'm pregnant I get PMSy. I know it's coming because it happens in all the weeks divisible by 4. Week 20. This is the fifth time it happened since getting pregnant. It will happen five more times, provided I stay pregnant the whole time I'm supposed to this time around. I thought this time would be okay though, because I was supposed to spend the afternoon with some old friends who are in town from Ireland and North Carolina after spending the morning with an old friend who lives in the city but so far away that it is actually easier to go to Jersey. Less preferable, but easier. Then out to dinner with some newer friends.
It was going to be great! Old friends getting together and having new times just like old times! But with our babies! And two of us with our new bellies!
But then the first two things couldn't happen because Jake and I are suffering staph and sinus infections and we are quarantined from minor children. Those first two things that were supposed to get me though this hormonal hump. The last thing is still happening, but I found out we are going to an Italian restaurant and those are my least favorite restaurants to go to. I have this weird garlic sensitivity/allergy.
Bad things happen to me when I eat it, and smelling it was never all that appealing to me. It smells like bad breath.
I think it's weird that people get all excited to smell garlic while it's in food form, but then go to great lengths to avoid smelling it/allow others to smell it when it's in breath form. It smells exactly the same.
Plus, everything gives me heartburn these days, especially tomato sauces and fried foods. There goes my old standby of eggplant parm.
The good thing about Italian restaurants is you can fill up on bread. Filling up on bread is the best thing in the world. I don't know why more people don't do it. You can always take your meal home and eat it in the middle of the night. The bread is never the same as it is fresh out of the oven.
All this on the same day as my last old friend who lives in (an easily accessible area of) the city drove out to LA this morning. To live.
Everyone who knew me ten years ago and lived within stumbling distance is gone. There used to be a ton of us. A whole hoarde. Now there is me.
Everyone moved far away and no one has each other nearby anymore. That's so sad. Especially now that we are grown up and doing major life things like owning homes and raising children and orchestrating careers and such.
That's the thing about living in Philadelphia. All your friends from your twenties are people who are either just here to go to college or who have lived here their whole lives and get out as soon as they can. All my friends from my twenties were people who were either just here to get an education or who had lived here their whole lives and have gotten out as soon as they could.
I have plenty of friends from my thirties who still live here and have no plans on leaving, but it's not the same. And plenty of friends who live just outside of the city and have cars and don't mind coming into the city. But I'm still going to feel sorry for myself all day.
I remember when this sort of thing happened to my parents too. They had to get new friends to replace the ones who got out of the town we all grew up in. We kids never really liked the new ones the same way we liked the old ones. We didn't call the new ones Aunt So and So or Uncle Whatever the way we did the old ones. It was just "the lady with the red hair from mom's work" or "that guy who runs and goes to church with dad".
I wonder who my friends replaced me with when I left my hometown. I wonder if I'd like that person. I like their new friends, but I can't ever figure out which one is the new me.
Someplace in the middle of Nowhere, America I'm guessing that there are towns that no one ever moves in to and no one ever moves out from and things are very much different than they are in the places I've lived. I'm guessing that you probably marry someone that your best friend dated first and you have all sorts of awkward run-ins at the grocery store every Saturday morning and your dad might want to punch another dad at the high school football games over something left over from when they were the ones playing the games, but at least everyone knows everyone and you can always call your best friend from the first grade's mom because her phone number hasn't changed in 30 years.
833-6003. That was my best friend from the first grade's phone number 30 years ago. When I think about it, I still remember exactly how long each number sounded on the rotary dial. Then later, the pitch of the beeps from the push buttons.
My day is different today than I thought it would be.
My whole life is different today than I thought it would be.
Most days that works out perfectly for me. Today is not one of those days.
My life is actually about 400 times better than it sounds on this blog. Just in case you were worried.
The friends we are going out to dinner with is a guy from Long Island that Dave played baseball with up until a year or so ago and his wife. They live in the next county over. I really like the wife too, who was close friends with a close friend of mine from grad school while they were in high school. That happens a lot here in Smalltown, USA. The guy is also our family doctor. I always joke that he makes me strip down to my underwear for everything, even to check a sinus infection. But he doesn't. It's actually probably very difficult for him to do his job because he insists I leave every stitch of clothing on for my physicals. In other smalltown news, he happened to be working in some random hospital over in Jersey the night that Dave's cousin delivered her baby so he delivered the baby since he knew Dave. I'm comfortable with him as a regular physician, but I don't think he will be delivering my baby any time soon. That's crossing some sort of boundary.
Doctors With Borders.
That's my policy for having a friend as a doctor. The borders are all the places that my bathing suit covers.