Biggest thing to happen in february? (Drumroll, please) I got married! Rings, kiss, and license officially, in what may be the most awkward ceremony of all time on the cheesiest day of the year while wearing the most unintentionally short dress in history. Long story short, we hit up the courthouse on v-day-- solely because it was convenient-- and listened to the most painfully halting rendition of wedding vows read by what I can only believe was the perfectly cast stereotypical hispanic cast member of a hidden camera show. I reaaaally hope that literal tongue biting to keep from going into hysterics doesn't somehow affect the validity of our marriage. Or wearing a dress that was subject to Lindsay Lohan episodes of passenger side seat panty flashing.
Some other new developments: I'm suffering from an ever increasing list of wacky pregnancy woes. I spend roughly six hours of my day in, or en route to or from, the bathroom. It's like my Kegel muscles have been replaced by Silly Putty. At this rate, by the time the babe's born I'll just have to switch over from maternity drawers to straight up Depends. Sexy. Oh, and speaking of sex, I want it. Now, half an hour from now, after lunch, before dinner, between bathroom breaks... I'm a thirteen year old boy dripping with hormones, and trapped in the body of a beached whale. With boobs. Seriously, the mister looks at me the wrong way and I'm halfway to the bedroom, tearing at the industrial strength elastic of my maternity jeans. But here's the catch-- actually having sex has become a nigh on impossible feat of epic proportions, requiring the strength, stamina, balance, and flexibility of a Czech gymnast. A healthy sense of humor helps, too. And some Tylenol. Also on the list of Reasons Pregnancy Sucks: heartburn. The scorching, searing, don't-burp-near-flammable-objects-unless-you-have-really-good-
homeowners-insurance kind of heartburn that can only come from having a stomach squished to the size of a peach pit and constantly being used for kickboxing practice by the fetal ninja. The other day, I made the mistake of laughing in the mister's face. He no longer has eyebrows. Add to this, endless backaches, achey ligaments, the mass death of brain cells (Unbeknownst to me, they had a suicide pact. Which helps to explain why I didn't realize that I'd left my purse Panera yesterday until three stops and forty-five minutes later.), the almost complete inability to sleep through the night, and the return of the senseless mood swings. I recently had to lock myself in the bathroom for ten minutes when the mister came home because he made some offhand remark about getting ready for the baby, and I was so overwhelmed with
Anyway, other than that, life's been mostly a series of naps and snacks and doctor's appointments. Which, by the way, have been going really well. For those of you that care, the bambino's made the transition to full-time bat mode, with his big ol' baby head locked and loaded in the correct upside down position right on top of my long suffering bladder. I've gained twenty some-odd pounds (and counting), and I've had buckets of my blood and piss stolen, tested, analyzed, and charged for. I owe Quest Labs about three hundred bucks, but I'm apparently quite healthy. So, yeah, february was a good month. Shame you missed out on hearing about it. I promise I'll do better this time. It's not like I'm much for hauling my fat ass too far off the couch anymore, anyway.
With love and a pinky swear,
* I'm currently suffering from the female equivalent of Dickydo syndrome. Feel free to laugh and/or cry. I do.