So where have I been for a week, anyway? Well, the short story is that I was sleeping. The long story is that Boss-Lady is making my life a living hell, causing me to collapse into bed every night nearly immediately upon arrival home from work. Energy to sit in front of a computer? Ha!

Last Friday was the start of it. She called me into her office and proceeded to scold me sharply for my recent "laziness." Apparently, I've been spending too much time sitting down at work; I needed to be up and moving, conducting people to their books instead of merely pointing, roaming about the stacks during my spare minutes, straightening shelves and picking up toys. In other words, I needed to rediscover the energy that I had several months ago.

But, Boss-Lady, I'm pregnant! Yesterday I made a set of intestines from scratch! I'm so tired!

Ahem. Boss-Lady doesn't know about Little Bit yet. In her eyes, I have no excuse for being tired; if I'm sleepy, then I'm simply staying up too late at night. I bit my tongue and accepted the scolding, since I'm really not ready to tell about the pregnancy yet. In another four weeks, I'll be in the second trimester and much more comfortable about revealing the secret, but until then...

If I must twirl about the stacks, then twirl I shall. She's been a much more "proactive" sort of supervisor ever since the dressing-down, so I've been kept hopping while trying to keep up with this task and that task. Shift the paperbacks! Move the computers, and lay down an area rug! Pack up the Halloween books, and put out the Thanksgiving ones! And do it with a sparkling smile that says that sleep is the farthest thing from my mind.

Oh, sweet Lord, I'm exhausted.

On top of that, the torrential hormones of pregnancy seem to have turned me into a raving psychotic overnight. Some women cry uncontrollably; I spit pea soup. Seriously, I have been positively venomous lately, and it's driving me nuts. Poor, suffering Eric walks through the door at night, and I'm appalled to hear myself berating him for the most innocuous things. Last night, he brought me leftover Indian food - my favorite cuisine - and I scolded him first for going out for it without me, and then for only bringing me back a tiny sampling.

Of course, a few minutes after my attacks, the hormones perform a U-turn, leaving me giddily in love with every little thing Eric does. I can't stop laughing at his jokes; I crave the touch of his warm, strong hands. I'm a complete basket-case, and there's no end in sight.

But at least, at the end of the evening, I can retire to my new king-sized bed. Sleep never held such bliss for me. Good timing, too, since I'm putting in so many hours under the sheets these days.

Anyway, I apologize for disappearing. I hope nobody was worried, though I know for a fact that I managed to scare a few people. The women on one of my listservs were apparently a little bit scared by my relatively sudden vanishing, and I came home one evening to a message on my answering machine from one of them: "We were just worried about Carrie, and hoping everything was all right..." I was more than a little bit embarrassed, but flattered nonetheless. Next time, I'll make sure to leave a forwarding address, if only to my bedroom.

Unfortunately, it became quickly obvious from both her questions and mine that I'm really dealing with fear issues with this pregnancy. I asked whether I could eat certain foods or see scary movies; she asked whether I was exercising, and I had to admit that I'd recently given up bicycling out of fear of falling and hurting the baby. Barbara was not pleased. When she took my blood pressure and found it elevated, I received the second dressing down of the week, only this one was far more deserved.

"Carrie, you have got to stop being afraid of this pregnancy!" she scolded. "Fear is not good for you, and it's not good for your baby. You must remember that this is not only your baby; it's God's baby, and it's in His hands, not yours. You can't hold on like this." I started to cry. She went on. "In the absolute worst case scenario, you'll get to meet your baby in heaven, with God - and that wouldn't be a bad thing! Now, please stop worrying and start enjoying this pregnancy!"

I was left with explicit instructions: up my protein intake, get back on the bicycle, and have my blood pressure taken whenever I possibly could, in grocery stores, drugstores, or even at the fire station.

That night, I prayed, cried, and prayed some more. In fact, I'm still praying. When I told Mom what Barbara had said, she agreed wholeheartedly. I've tried so hard to focus on what they both said to me, and I think that I'm finally beginning to let go of the fear. I'm not checking for blood every time I go to the bathroom; I'm not running for the miscarriage sections of my herbals every time I feel a strong twinge.

And my blood pressure has been golden ever since. Beautiful numbers.

The next appointment is on November 30, and I'm feeling much more relaxed about it. Hey, we may even be able to hear the heartbeat then!

Never mind, for the moment, that this could just as easily be a little boy who would take strong exception to being called such.

Well, Ada's not a bad name, so to speak. I'm not particularly wild about it, but Eric's not been crazy about any of the names that I've proposed either. Perhaps I should be giving this one a chance, since he's so taken with it? It's derived from "Adelaide," which doesn't light any fires for me, either. There's always the chance that either name could grow on me eventually, so I'm not ruling them out for the moment. Maybe with the proper middle name, I could accept one of them? I don't know yet. Give me time. (Luckily, there's about thirty more weeks left to me.)

I'd welcome any suggestions about how to make Eric's choice sit better. For now, all I can think about is, "Ada? Ada what? Ada cheeseburger, then I Ada cookie..."

Ah, I'm off to bed, again. I've got a leisurely bike ride ahead of me tomorrow.