Me (pointing at a weird divot in the back of my leg): What’s this?

G: It’s the bottom of your calf muscle.

Me (poking at it): Hmmm

G: It’s probably because you’ve been ..(awkward fumbling)… know….walking alot..

Me: Oh, not because I’m hauling around more weight?

G: No- from the walking…(smiles) ….hey look at it this way, at least you’re not getting cankles!



more clothing and starting to pack up

Well between now and March 25th I really have no business, and I mean NO BUSINESS doing anything other than working on this presentation I have next week. But the weather is just now starting to change- my attitude in general is improving (about everything except for my largeness) and we’re moving- so I need to be packing, too.

I believe my belly has officially “popped” which means — my pre-prego pants really don’t fit me. And at least I look less like a fat-ass and more like a pregnant person now. Maybe. I think it still depends on what I’m wearing. Yesterday I wore these maternity pants that come all the way up to your boobs. I never understood why or how this worked. But, I have a better understanding now, and was quite comfortable all day wearing pants that look like this. I have another pair that I might put on today. My mom took me shopping so I have some options to choose from in the clothing arena, so I don’t feel like a hideous cow everytime I leave the house. G still disagrees with my shoe choice with EVERY outfit (tennis shoes) but I don’t care. My main concern is not looking like a doofus and comfort. He’s stuck with me, we can worry about putting this train wreck back together once the baby’s out of me.

Packing. Ah. Really we haven’t done much of that, but I did manage to throw away a BUNCH of stuff I have been meaning to throw away for over a year. Seriously- weird stuff like old throw pillows, old rugs that match nothing I own, roller blades, 3D Disney princess castle puzzles (I know), that kind of thing. We filled up the back of G’s truck and dumped it off at the Salvation Army. G said, “Even homeless people will scoff at this donation: shakespeare house slippers?!” Haha. I said “If they’re homeless they’ll just want the slippers and not care who’s on them.”

The spare bedroom (which was at one point Lisa’s room) is now my maternity clothing and Thumbkin-stuff hoarding room.  There are clothing donations from friends and family who will “no longer be needing the clothes” and some even told me they NEVER WANT TO SEE THEM AGAIN with great ferocity. So have piles of clothes-to-return, clothes-to-donate, and clothes-to-wear-as-you-continue-to-expand. You might think this is fun or nice to have the extra options for clothing. It’s definitely better than the alternative (which is trying to squeeze into what I own and fashioning the belly band to work with it– would. not. happen.) but having piles of fat clothes laying around for the next time (probably in a few weeks) you roll out of bed and can’t fit into your normal pants again….it’s depressing.

I need to see the baby again. Seeing or hearing the baby makes me remember that I am not getting fat for no reason. It also makes me all gooey and mushy and “Oh I can’t wait to snuggle you-like”.

Last night I had a dream that we got a golden retriever and we named her Lucky. I woke up and told G this. He is staunchly against having pets, and last night told his mother so on the phone. I heard, “No, and we’re not interested.” (Apparently she’d asked if we’d like to adopt the stray puppy they found…awwww….) When I told G my dream this morning, this is how it went:

Me: I had a dream we got an adorable golden retriever and we named her Lucky

G: Nope, not happening.

Me: It was just a dream, gosh.

G: Nope.

Me: I think Thumbkin will melt your heart and make you a softy and you’ll want to get a puppy for Thumbkin.

G: Nope, I don’t care how much the kid complains and whines, we’re not getting a dog.

Me: Someday maybe.

G: Probably not.

Me: Well it will be two-against-one, we win.

G: Ha! No.

I’m still not convinced. I think we’ll soften him up. I”ve already softened him up a ton, and he freely admits it. I don’t want a dog yet, but I don’t want to rule it out FOREVER> jeesh.

Alright I’m going to go do something. Probably eat, but maybe go on a walk or pack. We’ll see.

And I’m going to try to include a baby bump picture here so you all don’t think I’m lying. I think this would be circa 17/18 weeks? So yea. And I know I don’t look that big from the side but from the front I feel like a trailer.  I always swore I wouldn’t put these pictures on the internet, but since my face isn’t in it, and this isn’t my facebook or myspace page, I figure it’s alright. Plus I haven’t shared this address with a ton of people. So here’s my gut.

17 weeks or so?
17 weeks or so?


My appetite is changing. As in, I’m not opposed to eating anything, anytime. Why? Not because I’m exercising and burning up energy, but because I’m bored mostly. And I am not even a huge fan of food to begin with. I’m not one of those people that turns to food in a crisis. That always leads to —>additional weight = additional guilt = further depression/crisis. So this whole eating thing I’m on is strange to me- even witnessing it myself is odd. For example, last night after signing our lease, I wasn’t terribly hungry but I figured G was, so he suggested dinner. I said “Sure” because- well a woman should eat (and Ididn’t feel like making the baked rotini pasta I’ve been meaning to make since Saturday). I tell G we should go somewhere where we can walk since it’s nice out. (I’m also thinking in my head that if we walk, I can get ice cream after dinner and feel only 2/3 of the guilt I would normally feel eating ice cream on my couch. I mean, if you walked to the ice cream shop, you deserve the ice cream!) Now, I got broccoli and mashed potatoes with my crabcake- and I only ate one crabcake so that was good. But  yes, I got two scoops of Jeni’s ice cream in a waffle cone after dinner and it was delicious. Then I sat my widened butt on the couch and watched The Pianist. And during that movie I decided that I may get rid of my couch because I believe my ass is building a nest in the divot it’s creating on the couch. I do not like said divot. I would prefer a stiffer couch that makes me feel lighter. But do I get another couch now or do I wait until after the baby to get one? Decisions decisions.

So today so far- 100 calorie nutty bar; vanilla yogurt with banana granola in it; leftover potatoes and broccoli; leftover potato skin (with cheese and bacon); one bite size Twix bar.  And part of a Cadbury chocolate bar. And a Jell-O pudding cup. AND IT IS ONLY NOON.

This morning I said to G: “I think my boobs are getting bigger, or my arms are getting fatter, because I never used to feel my boobs on my arms.”

G turns to me and says: “It’s probably both.”