Detox

Be afraid. Be very, very afraid. For at midnight, it begins: The long and we hope successful road to getting knocked up and giving TheBoy somebody to kick around.

We're still a few weeks away from my appointment with the high-tech turkey baster, but I decided months ago that I would use today, my 33rd birthday, as the demarcation line between unhealthy, pass-the-friends, where's-my-coffee AnnaRay with new-and-improved, My Body is a Temple AnnaRay2.0.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now that I'm on the verge, however, I'm having these ugly daydreams about getting the DTs from caffeine deprivation and sugar withdrawal. I'm not as bad as I used to be -- over the past few years, I've steadily cut down on my candy intake, and I've limited myself to one Diet Coke a day, and I've generally started eating more of the healthy, veggie food JudyBat makes. (She cooks because she loves, even if I don't love what she makes.)

All the same, this is going to suck. Living in lovely Portland has made me more active -- have you heard my complaining about the bike ride to work recently? -- but it's also resulted in a serious bump in my coffee habit. There are five coffee shops within a three-minute walk from my office. Life is so mellow here, that most of us would fall asleep standing up were it not for a steady and readily available supply of java.

Then there's the beer. Portland is the microbrew capital of the world. Seriously. Demographers have proven it. We spend our days getting hyped up on coffee, and our nights coming back down on beer. Could life get any better?

But I'm giving it all up. As of tomorrow, I'm eating and drinking to fuel my high-rise luxury loft of a womb, not to feed my soul. No sugar, no caffeine, no booze, no crap. No fun. Except, you know, for apples and bananas and the occasional wee spoonful of organic, sugarfree, saltfree peanut butter. All for Segundo.

It's such a sacrifice, being a parent.