Damnit, Massage Envy!

I only have one day off this week. Today. And that hardly constitutes a day off, because I have to work again at midnight, so my day "off" essentially means I get to sleep when the sun goes down and wake when it comes up for ONE NIGHT.

And on my day off, I want a damn massage. My mom was gracious enough to get me a membership to Massage Envy a while back, and I've now skipped two of my monthly paid-for massages because the world is so effing scared of pregnant people.

The last time I went, they said they couldn't do it until I'm 15 weeks, unless my doctor said it was okay.

Well, yesterday I asked my doctor, and she actually laughed in my face.

"Um, yeah, that's perfectly fine, as long as they don't maul you in the uterus."

So, today I called the lovely massage people, and NOW they say they can't do it until I'm 13 weeks, even with my doctor's permission.

I'M 4 DAYS AWAY FROM 13 WEEKS! What the hell is gonna change in these oh-so-important next 4 days?? Will the fetus suddenly become immune to mommy's relaxation?

The masseuse actually told me last time one of the things they can't do to preggos is rub their feet. Because, uh, there's an old wive's tale that rubbing your feet can send you into pre-term labor.

I'm 12 weeks along. At this point, it's not called pre-term labor. It's called a miscarriage. And if rubbing my feet could cause a miscarriage, then sorry, baby, but I went to town on my feet LAST NIGHT because they hurt so stinkin bad.

It's called being pregnant. Your feet hurt, your body aches, you're more tired than usual, more IN NEED OF A MASSAGE, and more irritable.

Rub my damn feet, Massage Envy.

Thanks.

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15 and Pregnant.

So, I look about 10 years younger than I am. And when you're 23, that's not a good thing.

I've been told I look 12 (once, when buying cigarettes), not a day older than 16 (about 2029947474 times, when buying alcohol), and just plain too young to be doing the things I'm doing (two-TWO-people at my work stopped me just to ask if my engagement ring was actually an engagement ring, because I "just look way too young to be getting married"). That's what you get for being 5'1" and small and not wearing suits and heels to the office because I work overnight and just plain don't feel like it.

It's something that's irked me since I was in middle school, and something I'm sure will for decades to come.

And being pregnant sure isn't going to help my looking-my-age fixation.

Yesterday, my mom took me to get a hot stone massage. At the very last minute, I told the masseuse I was pregnant (just in case that would bar her from throwing scorching stones on my stomach), and she informed me that company policy doesn't allow her to massage anyone under 15 weeks. So no relaxation for me. And, on top of that, I then had to--for the first time--face the glares and scrutiny and plan judgey stares from strangers finding out I'm pregnant.

She escorted me to the lobby, where she told the receptionists what had happened (they each shot me "oh, you poor knocked up 12-year-old" looks).

Because my paranoia really is that bad, I informed all of them that it was okay, because I brought my own car, and I could just go shop all by myself while I waited for my mom (whose presence there I'm sure didn't help my cause). I was tempted to throw in that I might just go to the bar and drink some alcohol, because I legally can and do you wanna see my ID? except that might not have gone down so well with the whole them knowing I'm pregnant thing.

So I left, with no massage, no feeling of calm and relaxation, and three sets of eyes feeling sorry for me.

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