Medium Half Coffee, Half French Vanilla Please. Now.

I’ve always been pretty proud of myself for not having an addiction. Even a little smug you might say. Certainly I enjoyed a lot of things, on occasion to the point of overindulgence but I never needed anything. For me, the experience of doing, eating or saying what I wanted at that moment was enough.

OK, except nail biting. That is a lifelong thing. But I kind of put this nasty habit into a different cubby hole since I never gained any high from chewing on my fingers. It was more of a “it’s there and I’m bored/nervous/anxious/something” behaviour and obviously once I had bitten my nails to negative cuticle space I had to stop. Now I can say that the habit’s under control… usually they’re left alone but once in awhile there is a fall into temptation but it’s never the massacre it used to be.

Anyway, so back to being smug about addictions. I blame the baby. Let me explain.

Coffee to me, for as long as I can remember has always been the nastiest and foulest thing on which people spend their money. The taste, the breath, sometimes even the smell made me think of dead things. Roadkill on a hot day all bloated, about to drip messy grossness everywhere. I never understood how my dad spent more time with his coffee thermos than anything else and was superbly happy, and smug when he was told to cut back before the rest of his insides rotted away.

When I became pregnant there weren’t any insane food cravings. Sure I’d be hungry all the time and once in awhile want to eat something really badly but nothing like the peanut butter on a sloppy joe with a side of relish kind of weirdness. But then Mr. Stinky started a new job. And his coffee habit. And I started stealing sips when he had a cup.

That is how me and coffee became best friends. I drank coffee and the baby rewarded me with powerful roundhouse kicks in utero. There wasn’t a need to drink a lot, just a few good sips to settle the cravings now and then.

And then I went back to work. Bug-bug was weaned and I didn’t have to worry about the effects of over-caffeinating her any longer. Coffee has since become my highlight of the day. So far I can live on one coffee a day but it’s a painful wait. I buy my coffee in the early afternoon so from the time I wake up to when I get my fix all I can think of is how much longer until my happy time.

I used to be content with tea but now when I try to substitute it just tastes like hot, dirty piss water. I’m writing more than I need to but it’s only because it’s kind of a slow day and I’m trying to put off the coffee run for a little while longer. I’ve got a headache. It will magically go away once I get my fix, it always does. This is so sad.

That’s enough, I gotta go down now.

To the Point

Hey yah, so I had a baby about a year ago. Don’t ask me what exercises I did to lose the weight and how to “keep fit”. It’s such an offensive question to ask a woman who underwent incredibly huge changes to create a life, whose body needs time to rest and in some cases heal itself.

I want to say so much more but this makes me so angry I can’t think clear enough to write coherently. Besides, it won’t change the minds of some backwards thinking, sexist assholio husbands out there who demand that on top of making and caring for a baby their wives need to “get back into shape”. Coz… I guess you can’t love her if she’s not visually acceptable in the eyes of you and/or your friends.