Jun
26
June 26, 2007
I have no idea how I’m expected to keep it a secret for ONE SECOND LONGER that I am pregnant. Seriously. My god, I’m not a machine, people! I can’t possibly wait for weeks on end in order to hit some “it’s okay to tell” milestone because I have to tell you right this goddamned minute or I am going to EXPLODE.
There. Whew. That’s better.
You know what’s kind of funny, in a ‘boy, I sure am a dumbass’ kind of way? I was actually pregnant when I wrote this entry. I mean, barely pregnant, but still. Next up: hubris-filled entries about having—just now!—officially dropped the extra pounds, complete with photos to document my shrinkage! Ha ha haaaaa! Hot damn, my comedic timing knows no limits.
At least one internet calculator thingie predicts a Valentine’s Day due date, so that’s the general timeframe. I’m about seven weeks along. Morning sickness is a much bigger issue this time around, for some mysterious and sucktastic reason. My pants already feel too clingy in the waistline. Yesterday I crumbled graham crackers into a glass of milk and drank the resulting sludge, and it was SO. DAMN. GOOD.
(Yes, I realize the last two items may have something to do with one another.)
Anyway, that’s my news. I have been ridiculously excited to tell you.
Jun
25
June 25, 2007
You guys have me good and whipped, because after reading several comments aggressively demanding kindly requesting some visual evidence of this so-called War Face, I spent my afternoon hovering over Riley with the camera, repeatedly shouting show Mama your war face, sweetie! like a total freakshow pageant mom. Of course, the boy completely refuses to perform on command, so this is the best I could do:
You’ll have to imagine something a little less shocked/dopey (“WHAFUCK?”) and a little more . . . war-facey. On the other hand, that’s a pretty good shot of JB’s war face. If he were an active duty pirate, that is. Yarrr, matey, this toddler’s diaper be smelling like Davey Jones’ locker, arrrrr.
-
My product review site:
[