Things That Have Become Increasingly Difficult To Do:

Pick up something I dropped.

Sit in a chair, any chair, for more than 5 minutes.

Contemplate Yoga.

Cross my ankle over my knee.

Find clothes that fit my waistline.

Tolerate bad breath.

Make meals that I'm not sick of eating.

Avoid tooting in public (I do this at least 3 times a day).

Paint my toenails.

Perform certain toilet tasks with ease (ie sitting down and standing up, let alone the other stuff).

Avoid touching my belly when he's caterwauling in there.

Wear a bra and/or pants.

Walk up 3 flights of stairs without resembling a rhinoceros during an asthma attack.

Deny the peanut butter and nutella urges.

Give a shit about weight gained as direct result of said urges.

Think about exercising.

Sneak Attack

So today I like New York. My work colleagues surprised the bejesus out of me yesterday with a baby shower in our conference room. Complete with plastic table cloths, baby-esque confetti, pot luck salads, and 14 kinds of dessert. I could not believe that people actually know my name, let alone would contribute their flour and 2 liter pop, chocolate chips and salad forks, time and money to celebrate the impending due date of this gigantic basketball who will soon join the Laugh More family. People are so terrific. Today people are terrific. Two days ago people were seriously going to get their asses beat when they cut me off at the toll booth on the way to work. But today is different.

We played that scary game where people try to guess how big your waist size is by cutting a piece of string that would signify your belt size. Yeah, I was looking around the room and I kid you not at least 10 people had string 4 feet long or more. 4 feet? For reals? I was about to get all ghetto in their faces before I remembered it was a baby shower. I managed to contain myself until I got home and was all, "Oh yeah? Mrs. 4-Feet-Ribbon? Let me measure your waist size missy. Now who's laughing? Huh? Yeah, that's what I thought". Jigga. (Not sure what that means).

I was so stuffed full of food by the end that I actually refused to take food home (a first). But now I'm kinda missing those extra turkey sandwiches that might still be in the breakroom frig...

Otherwise, everything's trucking along. Our next few weekends are full of parties, get togethers, childbirth classes, visitors, etc. And I feel like 4 weeks is going to be gone before I know it. It seriously takes some effort to not freak out about getting everything done now-a-days, but I'm doing my best to be in complete denial. Denial is a powerful, powerful drug, my friends. Have some. Every OB should write prescriptions for Denial to all of their newly pregnant patients. Stressed out? Pop a few Denial. Over your weight limit? Take a Denial! Husband chattering away about wanting to go to Tokyo 3 weeks before your due date? DECAPITATE HIM, then down some Denial.

At Least the Seams on My Stockings are Straight...

1930's Marital Scale

Can't say much for: "Wears pajamas instead of nightgown" and "Wears pajamas while cooking" - Let's just be real here: "Wears pajamas all day" and cut the BS.

Need to improve: "Often comments on husband's strength and masculinity."

Don't know what this means: "Reacts with pleasure and delight to marital congress."

How did you do? I'm a 47 which I think is pretty darn high considering my husband is constantly trying to convince people how afraid of me he is.

Sounds Kinda Kinky

My mega-amazing sister Gina and her friend Kari stayed with us last week and oh my God, I cannot tell you what they did for our apartment. Let me analogize. They did for my apartment what Madonna did for sex in the 80's. They did for my apartment what Sour Patch Kids did to gummi bears. They did for my apartment what THE INTERNET did for HUMANITY. Are you starting to get the picture? Because I need to conveyerize it to you.

Prior to the "arrival" there were boxes, both fully packed and partially unpacked, in every room. There were misplaced items all over the place, ie dishes in the office, toolbox in the kitchen, and towels on the deck. There was barely room to sit on any surface that wasn't covered with miscellaneous items without impaling your rear end.

Post the "arrival" there is order to the household! Order! There are no boxes in the living room, bedroom, kitchen, or bathroom. There are not 14 extra pieces of furniture in the living room. Boxes of storage are in the attic. And people. PEOPLE. The NURSERY is now a NURSERY. I apologize for all of the yelling, but I'm a tad bit excited over the recent developmentations. Now I really can find my camera cord and will Mos' Def' be picturizing the place and leave the evidence hitherfore for you to see for yourselves.

You might notice some extra word creation today and you can thank the secretary down the hall for starting me off today with the sentence: "Then he had to come back and defragmentilate it!"

Go Speed Racer! Go!

OMG: WARNING! THIS IS SO DAMN ADDICTING!

Typeracer if you dare.

Reminds me of my 4th grade computing class with Mr. Winters at New Albany Elementary and the depths of despair I would sink to after realizing my dreams of becoming a speedracer-typer were doomed. Damn you, Brandy Kolanko, and your majic flying fingers!

Other notables from Mr. Winters' class were Prince of Persia, Oregon Trail, and he taught us how to make business cards on the computer by taping shiny tin foil paper to the card before putting it through the printer to make fancy letters for our names. Life lessons, people.

Seriously With The Heat?

I don't know if you've heard anything about this little heat wave we've been experiencing in NYC the past few days but let me give you a firsthand account.

Ridiculous Heat = Overpowering Desire to Die or Kill = Unhappy Fat Pregnant Lady = Death to the Masses.

Now I wouldn't complain, I swear, I would not complain, except for the fact that the reason I am unbearably hot and sweaty constantly is because (ready for this one?) THERE IS NO AIR CONDITIONING IN MY 12th FLOOR OFFICE OR IN MY THIRD FLOOR HOME. Compliments of our wonderful Maintenance staff here at work and my Near Death Landlord who is not yet aware that he is near death but he's about to find out shortly just how close he and death are right now. VERY.

In other news, our power went out last night at 9pm, yes! And unfortunately it's difficult to run that one tiny window AC unit in our bedroom which manages to keep me slightly cooler than "Well Done" but pretty much "Medium Well" at all times with no power. So it was back to Heat = Die = Kill last night until about 1am when it finally kicked back on, along with all of the lights in our apartment that G apparently went around turning on when he realized the power was out. So I'm jolted awake after I had finally fell asleep swimming in ice packs and get up to start turning off all the lights. As I get back in bed a few minutes later, G wakes up from his dead sleep which he had been in all night (I know because I was watching him while I lay there sweating to death), looks around bewildered for a minute and says, "The power's back on!" Now, I ask you, in the same circumstances what would you have said at this point? Does it involve a lot of four letter words? Because my answer does.

So now when people ask me everywhere I go if the heat is killing me and then follow it up with "I wouldn't want to be you right now" I swiftly kick them in the nuts and/or boob and tell them to shove it. What? I claim free speech and pregnancy induced insanity.