Hopefully, the week of relative relaxation will help to rejuvenate me a little more. I'm no longer practically narcoleptic, but I still lack the drive that I had a few months ago. By eight in the evening, I'm ready to climb into bed with a book and read myself to sleep.

Unfortunately, my wonderful husband seems to have kicked into overdrive. He's been a cleaning whirlwind for the past few days; when I called him from work on Saturday, ready to whine about my bad day (it wasn't horrible, but I was working with Boss-Lady, and she wasn't letting me have any downtime at all), he informed me that he had cleaned the kitchen. He even pulled out the stove to clean behind it! As I was already a hormonal basket-case, I almost burst into tears right then and there. What a man! I don't deserve him.

He hasn't stopped, either. He's done the laundry, straightened the bedroom, and is in the process of weeding through his old computer books and magazines to try to make more room in the office. He even set up the spare television in the bedroom, mainly due to the fact that I've been spending more time there than anywhere else lately. I have no idea what time he's been coming to bed lately, but when I wake up, a substantial amount of work has been done each day.

Frankly, I have mixed feelings about this. I love the new cleanliness of the house, and I do understand how very blessed I am to have a husband who's willing to do all this. What bites at me is that I feel so horribly guilty. I have no motivation to clean right now; I don't even have the energy to help out. I feel so unworthy of my mate that even as I lie down to rest, I feel sick to my stomach at the sounds of labor coming from the other rooms. Even though he hasn't complained much, I still feel awful about it.

Hopefully in just a few weeks, I'll get that second trimester burst of energy, and I'll be able to be more of a partner than a dependant. Right now, I feel like a leech. But a grateful one!

I've never met the senior in question, nor do I play any role in the library's outreach programs. Thus, I have nothing whatsoever to do with this decision. Why should I, who don't even know any of the reasons for or against the idea, be asked for my opinion?

Sometimes I'm able to just smile, shrug, and change the topic. Other times, like tonight, I don't even feel like talking at all, so my shoulders tense even at the words, "You know what?" coming from the other side of the reference desk. No, I don't know what. I don't want to know what. Go tell somebody else. Of course, there is nobody else. I am It; no escape.

This particular GFRL has one other irritating habit; she expresses pleasure in other people with the purred phrase, "Good girl!" At first this was merely an annoyance, but now I'm really starting to become irked. Eric tells me that the next time she says it, I should respond by panting, barking, and letting my tongue fall out of my mouth in feigned bliss. A nice thought, but I don't think I'd ever actually go so far; after all, the woman herself is pretty nice. It's just her habit that I'd like to break, not her pride.

Besides, I'm happy with her just now. She just took a couple of tricky patron questions out of my lap, and I'm feeling pretty grateful to her for that. Story of my life, these days.

On Friday I had my first experience with having difficulty zipping my jeans, but I figured that I'd have a little while before I'd have to do anything about my stomach. After all, I'm only at twelve weeks now and this is my first child. Still, the bump was there today, rising through my loose-fitting shirt.

I rushed to the bathroom and examined myself in the mirror. It wasn't all that bad; if I looked closely, I could see the slight bulge, but barring any close inspections, I was still safe from the eyes of my coworkers. Thank God! I'm not ready for any questions yet. Hopefully, I'll have a few more weeks of safety ahead of me. I think that I've pretty much decided to tell Boss-Lady during my upcoming evaluation, which should go pretty well.

Just to be on the safe side, though, I've begun scanning my maternity wear options, and I've come to the conclusion that I'll have to wait until I have simply no other alternatives before I'll be able to make myself pay money for these things. Oh, there are a few cute outfits out there, but I'm not about to spend a fortune on clothing that I'll only be able to wear for a few months. Most likely, I'll run across the street to the "Once Upon a Mom" consignment shop. Thank heavens that we have one so conveniently close!

I'd like nothing more than not to have to worry about when I am visibly pregnant. I'd love to be able to revel in my new physical state. It's such a shame that other factors have to come into play and ruin my ability to be completely happy about this. Soon, though, I'll be able to fully embrace these changes. I had a dream the other night that I was wearing a beautiful green maternity top that emphasized the fact that my belly was rounded with my child. I was washing my hands and accidentally splashed water on my shirt; when I stood beneath the hand dryer to dry it, the warmth was met by what felt like tiny bubbles pummeling the inside of my stomach - the baby was kicking! I woke up smiling so hard that my cheeks hurt.