Canceled!

I feel so rejected.

My car insurance company just divorced me. By certified letter.

Remember the bread truck incident?

Well, I guess that was too much for them to handle. So they opted to break up. De-friend me.
I'm kicked to the curb y'all. Canceled.

Sigh.

I really do feel rejected -- and mad!

Who divorces a pregnant woman??? Sheesh.

Mean ole car insurance company! I want to call them up and say, "Listen -- I am a good person and a good driver! Both accidents I've had recently have been when I was pregnant. And I'm not going to be pregnant anymore after this. So give me another chance!"

But then, that makes me feel like a beggar. And I start to resort to my old single-gal dating mantras:
Why would I want to be with anyone who doesn't want me?
I'll find someone better than you!
One monkey don't stop no show.
Good riddance, meanie!!

Seriously. I had a minor, minor accident when I was pregnant with the boys and then the much more serious (and expensive) bread truck crash while carrying Curve Ball. Before that, nothing for years! No tickets or anything! It's clear that pregnancy affects my driving somehow.

Waaaaaah!

Friends, be honest, shouldn't it be a form of discrimination to cancel a woman while she's 9 months pregnant!?

Ugh! Off to find a new company. Add that to the ever-growing list of things to do.

Rosemary's baby?

Apparently, I am carrying a demon child, because my body keeps trying to kill it.

First there was the bread truck incident.

Then, last night, I went to put a protesting Dean over the baby gate from the dining room into the living room, and leaned too hard -- I guess -- into the gate. The gate gave way; I dropped Dean on his head. The gate fell on top of him and then I fell HARD on my face, belly and knee.

Did I mention I have hardwood floors? Ugh. This is why ancient man invented carpet, I'm sure of it.

I have a sore-to-the-touch knot on my head and a tiny little bruise. I had a headache all night, and my nose is still sore.

Dean was fine, after getting over the fright of the fall and of having the mesh gate on top of him like a fishnet.

Curve Ball seems fine, too, despite my worrying all night about whether or not she was moving enough.

So, all's well that ends well, I guess. But seriously, what the heck?

My friend Rashod Ollison asked me if someone had "put roots on me."

I am inclined to believe it's either that or I am carrying Rosemary's baby, and my body is trying to save me the humiliation later on in life of having given birth to the spawn of Satan.

Or..maybe I'm just tired and off-balance and distracted, with fluctuating blood sugars that make me feel all loopy. And so, if that's the case, I should prepare myself for more clumsiness and haphazardness for at least the next 11 weeks.

I think I'll buy myself a helmet.