Pregnancy Makes You Stupid

Well, I should not say that. You could be pregnant and entirely in control of your mental faculties. You could be functioning at full capacity, you lucky bastard. That does not seem to be the case for me.

For instance, trying to log into this blog tonight to jot this down, I put in what I was convinced was my email and password. It denied me. I did it again the same way, convinced I was right. Denied. Again. Denied. I looked closely at the email it was telling me did not exist and believed the computer systems to be all wrong because I had it right.

I had spelled it wrong.

I caught that on the fourth time.

Earlier this evening, I got ready for yoga, even though I was feeling tired and strange from the previous night of barfing and not sleeping. I had to cancel last week because of a screaming headache, and I did not want to cancel again. I got myself dressed and out the door with my gear made my way over to Kira's. On Portland Avenue just before Lake Street, my phone rang. It was Pete's ring. But I have my phone on vibrate because the ringing makes me angry. Then I realized that it was, indeed, Pete's ring. On Pete's phone. In my pocket. He had been trying to arrange a gear exchange for his gig tonight, and his buddy, Chris, was calling him back. I figured I could just call Pete and tell him to ring Chris back. Then I checked my other pocket and found my phone.

Awesome. 

Four blocks and four minutes away from yoga class, I had to turn around and drive back home to St. Paul to give Pete his phone back. I was mad at myself, feeling bad for canceling, and in disbelief at my dumbassity.

I managed to knit my way out of the bad mood, but it took awhile. I can't help but feel that being pregnant has rendered me practically useless for anything but being pregnant.