Monday, January 23, 2006

Baby... One More Time

Being on deadline, I've decided, is like being pregnant. Not that I know anything about the latter from personal experience or anything. But: I've watched enough T.V. and movies, read enough books and magazines, and known enough pregnancy-beleaguered people to have picked up on a thing or two, dispite my total baby-block. And thus... some truths that apply both to being on a remarkably rigorous magagzine deadline schedule and to being with child:

1.) Skin = haywire. Seriously, my skin isn't as bad as it was during the whole Yearbook debacle, but it's angry. This probably is not completely unrelated to...

2.) Cravings. I've (or I should say we've, because this was a team effort, Fernando) consumed more pizza in the past two weeks than a frat house probably consumes in two months. There's something supremely comforting in greasy, bubbly cheese and a crust that's just the right consistency (props here to Salerno's, who makes a mean pie that is as delicious as 10:30 p.m. deadline munchie leftovers as it is when first delivered.) But there's also such a thing as pizza overload. This is why, mid-deadline, my dinner menu looked something like this:

• Two vegetarian rolls from the pre-packaged foods case at Dominicks
• Three quarters of a huge bag of Swedish Fish
• One handful of El Ranchero "WITH SALT"-flavored tortilla chips slathered in Chipotle Tobasco sauce
• Two conversation hearts (one white, one purple)

That's right. Swedish Fish and conversation hearts. These, I think, were both impulse buys during our one zombified trip to the grocery store. I can't imagine actually saying, "You know, I have a wicked craving for... what is it? OH! Swedish Freaking Fish!" but I'm not entirely convinced it didn't happen. I must have craved Swedish Fish because I subconsciously knew they made me happy, and I needed to be happy because...

3.) Hormones = out of whack. I've been feeling the highs and lows pretty acutely the past couple of weeks. I think since it takes every last fiber of my already-questionable goodness not to rip some clients' (or coworkers') heads off, I've been almost insanely slap-happy at work, and then really really glum once I get home. On Saturday I could barely muster the will to get out of my pajamas, and I caught myself getting all misty at (wait for it...) First Daughter. (In my defense, he should have told her he was in the Secret Service before he let her fall in love with him! Shame on you, Riley!) Ever have one of those nights where you get home, supertired, and think, "I should go to bed... but I really don't want to because when I wake up I'm going to have to do this all over again"? It's not the best feeling.

Also not the best feeling? Going out to celebrate the end of deadline, getting trashed at a gay bar under the delusion that someone (someone) there is going to take pity on you and want to make out, waking up in a bed that's not your own, and discovering YOUR OWN PHONE NUMBER in your pocket. Yeah... I don't even know. But...

4.) In the end, there's a little bundle of joy that you can smile down on and know that you helped to create. Sappy when it comes to a baby, kind of awesome when applied to a creative project like the biggest issue of our magazine in its 20-year history, featuring my very first cover design! Office speculation has this issue pegged as our most picked-up, and, if I do say so myself, the cover is extremely hot. I'll set up a account or something when it's officially hit newsstands so you can share the joy.

I'm gonna be such a proud mom (I'm registered at Target, FYI).