Wanna know a secret? 

I didn't go to water aerobics Thursday. I couldn't bear the thought of a) becoming a stuffed sausage getting into a swimsuit b)getting into water that wasn't immediately warm c) going anywhere.

I went for a walk around the block instead. 

I took the dogs. 

I was almost thinking I felt normal when a man stopped me to talk. More precisely, he stopped me and proceeded to yell at me from across the street about his dog and how she looked like my dogs. Except with stumpy legs. On his fourth repeat, I prayed Charlie would see a squirrel and take off after it, thus evacuating me from further attempts at conversation. 

When I finally I turned away, I began to cry uncontrollably. FOR NO REASON. 

...Stupid hormones.

Just when I was thinking I might be less cray cray today, Mike and I may have gotten into an argument. About baby laundry and which detergent to use. I don't remember all the details, but basically I was going to use All Free and Clear, like I've used forever, and he mentioned something about it being "safe for babies", and I was all "um..." and he was stressing about something else and insisting I not use the same detergent for our precious unborn, and I was amazed that he even thought about it, really.

Ten minutes later, I walked into my mom's house with an armload of baby clothes. And unlike every other female I know, she did not ask to see them. Instead, she said, "You going to do laundry? You know that All Free and Clear is safe for babies."

Faaaaantastic.

just being real

And because I finished ate an entire pint of ice cream before 11 am, I give you this:

“What is REAL?" asked the Velveteen Rabbit one day... "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When [someone] loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.

"Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand... once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.”    

In favor of being real, I share my Morning Warning:

I'm a little cranky. 

And by a little I mean that I ate an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's. The ENTIRE thing.

I've never done that before.

Today I need an emotional sign post for anyone who comes within a 25 foot radius of me. 

"I may cry uncontrollably if you look this direction"

I'm like Medusa, only backwards.

I need a second sign: 

"I'm having a hard time right now and I need to bitch about it for 2 minutes. I need you to listen, hug me, tell me that it sucks, and then offer me a drink/ offer to throat punch the offender/ offer ice cream/ offer a Kleenex/ offer diamonds or something similar."

Unfortunately for me, I did not have this sign this morning when talking to my sweet husband. (In fact, I usually forget this sign when in conversation with a man and end up regretting it.) On second thought, perhaps it is more unfortunate for him because I ended up in tears. Before 8AM. And you know it's a bad day when there's tears before 8am.

Thank heavens I get to go hang out with the Blue Hairs tonight. 

Yeah, you heard me. I'm taking a water aerobics class to avoid Mommy Butt. It's not really working (see first statement of this post), but it lets me pretend I'm not totally becoming one with the couch.

I've been going twice a week (this is week 3). The class on Tuesdays is hilarious. well, not so much the class, as me, trying to do some kind of dance routine under water.

If you've ever read this blog (or met me in real life), you probably know that I... um, see video. It explains better.

 

So yeah, Little Miss Coordination here tries to pretend I can do the watusi, electric slide, cha-cha, and whatever newfangled moves the drill sargent instructor comes up with. Tuesday it was Gangnam Style. And great Balls of Fire. And some Latin- inspired thing that my body protests. If you think cha-cha isn't so hard, I invite you to try it when you are up to your neck in water. It's just not the same. Trust.

While I don't know how many hip swivels are in store tonight, I do know I'll feel a lot better after the water boarding Fun Time With Blue Hairs is over.

Meanwhile, try to avoid looking my direction, lest you get hit by one of the involuntary lasers/ tears coming out of my eyes.

Pregnancy is weird, yo.

Confession: I've been afraid to post anything on here related to pregnancy due to an unfounded fear of my son being all "Muh-om! Gawd, you're soo embarrassing!". 

As though I could ever escape that.

The truth is, being pregnant is weird. 

That's the best I can come up with. Seriously. I've lived in a pregnant state for the last 29 weeks and all I can say is that it's weird. 

Also, I can't post anything without mentioning that I'm pregnant. If I'm talking about me, I'm talking about being pregnant. And sometimes it gets old. I like to pretend that I'm more than just a human oven (Ok, yeah, that sounds Hansel and Gretel meet the Nazis gross. Sorry.)

Being pregnant consumes me. 

I mean, discovering that my body has hidden talents, like peeing on command and growing a life is cool and all. Too often they get negated by my other talents: smelling everything and puking for no good reason.

I think I started showing when I was about 20 minutes pregnant. And to all of the kind people who point out that I am "reaaally big, and I am I sure there's only one, and oh my goodness I'm just sooo freaking huge!": 

Shut Up.

Also, I am not about to "pop". That makes me sound like I belong in the diner in Spaceballs. And there ain't no way you'll find me there. 

Ever.

I would have been really excited about my growing tits if I didn't have a melon of growing proportions stuffed under my shirt at the same time. I feel cheated out of my Playmate of the Year moment. I understand the next step is for them to be saggy and leaky. 

Note to National Geographic: thanks for skipping the leaky part.

I'm also starting to feel cheated out of my maternity clothes. Yeah, the ones I just bought. My belly is peeking out of the bottom of maternity t shirts. And shoes? I'm pretending that it doesn't matter that I have exactly one pair of shoes that fit because I can't see my feet. How do other pregnant women even wear cute shoes?? My feet and fingers sausages are so swollen, I can hardly wear socks and I mostly can't wear my rings.

And that bit everyone keeps mentioning about how lucky I am to be pregnant in winter? The downside to my face (body) not melting off is that flip flops are not quite an option... yay winter. said no one ever.

So, yeah, some if it is really not a lot of fun. I mean, who wants to go shopping when you feel like poo? Or when you discover that clothing companies think maternity means ugly prints in weird cuts (what is it with the extra-wide shouldered tank/ sleeveless shirts, color block prints and random ruffles?!) that no non-pregnant person would ever wear. 

No one likes waking up in the middle of the night to pee, because the baby is kicking, or Just Because. 

I won't get into the weirdness with food. 

except to say that the food I like, I love. 

It has never tasted so good. 

I want to eat twelve of them. It doesn't matter what it is today, because it may not be the same tomorrow. I wish I could say it's carrots that are deliciously enticing. But I'm evidently not one of those women. (Do they even exist?!) That girl went the way of my pre-preggers self. 

No, my food crush is usually ice cream, cookies, or something else that does not constitute a meal in Pregnancy Land.

On the plus side, I am growing a baby. 

And this is a really huge plus. 

I no longer think of him a a parasite, and am starting to dream of having him snuggled up against my chest. I wonder what he is doing inside of me. What is it that keeps him so busy?

Aaaand now I'm crying happy tears. 

What? Did I forgot to mention the random crying?

Excuse me while I go inhale some more ice cream.