So, some of you may have noticed a conspicuous absence of posts in the last, say, oh, three months.

Usually, such a delayed absence would indicate that I have not been working on my dissertation and was too ashamed to admit it.

Well, OK, so it is that too, but the REAL reason is that I haven't been posting is that I'm pregnant (knocked up, got a bun in the oven, bumped, childing, parturient, preggers... stop me before I call myself "sperminated," please).

And, by the way, whatever genius came up with the term "morning sickness" should be drawn, quartered, dipped in rubbing alcohol, tarred, and feathered. Morning my ass. I'm sick all day and all night. I have to wake up every two hours all night to eat something or else I'll yak. If I so much as think about food, I want to yak. I gag every time I cough, brush my teeth, clear my throat, breathe deeply, blink. Nothing tastes good and I'm so fucking sick of eating crackers (I've gone through saltines, Carr's water crackers, Dr. Krackers, and am now onto Wheat Thins), jello, apples (which seem to offer the most immediate cure) and only drinking Gatorade and 7-Up.

Plus, to top it all off, two weeks ago Spousal Unit brought home a lovely little flu bug from work (we've traced it to a Scientist in Illinois. Fucking Land of Lincoln...). He had the trots a couple of times, puked three times, and went to bed. Me, I puked every 15 minutes for 6-7 hours, every 30 minutes for the next 6 hours, and had to spend 12 hours in the ER getting oxygen, IV fluids and anti-nausea drugs. (They gave me 3 liters of fluid before I started peeing again -- I was a total raisin. It was gross.) Then, I had to spend the next week in bed, I felt so awful.

So, now, there is, apparently, an ALIVE separate individual colonizing me somewhere about my midsection. It is showing enough of its presence that I've had to buy pregnant pants because my gut won't fit into any of my regular clothes (is there anything uglier than elastic waistbands and giant fabric stomach panels?) And, while, yes, I did want this, and yes, I'm overjoyed, yadda yadda yadda, I'm also more than a little freaked out that there is this thing moving around and wiggling and kicking INSIDE OF ME. When does that ever happen in popular culture and turn out well? (Alien, Aliens, Alien Resurrection, Predator vs. Alien, anyone?) And, even worse, I think is that sometime, this thing is going to want to get out. The options for how that is accomplished are all less than appealing. Spousal Unit keeps looking at me with this shit-eating-grin as I'm lying around moaning and trying not to barf, and all I can do is glare and declare that I'll never do this again. He says "yes, dear" and continues to grin, that bastard.


Why am I telling you all of this now? Well, it all comes back, of course, to the raison d'etre of this here blog. The bloody awful dissertation (or BAD for short). Today, in two hours, I'm meeting with my advisor to report on my "progress" of the last few months and to receive comments on the chapter that I had revised and turned in before Christmas. I will, of course, tell him that I've been too busy cooking up another human being to have done any dissertation work. When one comes home from teaching, eats dinner and falls asleep on the couch at 6:30, there isn't much room for the dissertation. I'm hoping to reassure him that the fabled "second trimester" will be incredibly productive as the nausea leaves me alone (please, dear god, let the nausea leave me alone!!) and I can really get down to business then. All of the preexisting deadlines still remain (I have to finish before the fall or my job is in jeopardy) and have now taken on an added intensity given the fact that come September there will be a squalling infant demanding all of my time and attention. But, still, I'm terrified that he's going to tell me that my previous revisions are crap, that the whole dissertation is crap, and that I should just throw in the towel, apply for unemployment, and look forward to a future of quilted housecoats, fuzzy pink curlers, and filthy diapers.

In the next two hours, I'm going to read over the comments he made on my introduction that he sent a few weeks ago that I have been too sick (and too scared) to look at. Then, I'm going to re-read the chapter I gave to him so that I have at least some idea of what he might be talking about when he shares his comments with me. This might be an important step since as of right now I could no more tell you what that chapter was about than I could keep down a triple cheese burger.

So, wish me luck as I face the terrifying and keep your fingers crossed that at the very least, I manage not to barf on his shoes.