Not Such a Good Idea.

Yesterday was one of those days that if you stop and take a step back you think, I never want to re-live this day, ever.
I hardly slept the night before, due to cramping like war inside my intestines, shooting pains like fireworks flying into my groin. Of course I thought I was loosing the little tiny ET inside of me, and I was distraught. My thighs were loosing blood flow, feeling tingly because of the pain, and I just wanted to moan like I was in labor. Scream.
At one point I woke Joey up and said I thought I was losing the baby and he said that I didn't know what was going on, and then he pulled the covers up near his head and re-positioned himself like this was all a really big annoying interruption in his night's sleep. It's times like this where I am so shocked God ever invented marriage (and, I suppose it is exactly why He did). I didn't feel rage, or sadness, just wordless shock as I gritted my teeth for the next wave of cramping.
To his credit, he was sweet and inquisitive the next morning, "How are you feeling?"--but I just know he is quite worthless if he is tired, thinking about his twelve hour shift the next morning. Fair enough.
So anyway, no blood the next morning, and all over the Internet it says that cramping in the first trimester is totally normal. Even shooting pains, due to the repositioning of the uterus, ligaments stretching and stuff just getting rearranged.
That's when I realized I probably should not have gone snowboarding. Or have taught kickboxing the next morning. Because I am pretty sure I pulled a muscle down there, due to the fact my tummy won't stop aching, and when I sneeze or reach for something high or turn over in bed those fireworks start shooting off again.
Of course in the back of my mind, I keep thinking that maybe this little guy is stuck in a tube somewhere, or floating somewhere he really should not be, like near my liver or something. It was enough today to make me call a couple of doctors when I woke up, but the offices were closed.
Due to the lack of sleep, and the fatigue I am already feeling in this pregnancy (I feel like the walking dead from one to seven PM), my patience with Ethan yesterday was as tight and rigid as the army. I was like a sargent, barking out commands, constantly telling him he COULD NOT do anything he was doing. It was not fun. I told him when I kissed him goodnight that tomorrow would be better. It has been so far, but I still feel as mean as a pissed off cat.