I’m Not Fat. I’m Pregnant.

I’m not fat. I’m pregnant.

I have to tell myself that every day. And I’ve only now begun to believe it.

I’ve always struggled with my weight. When I was younger, I was fat. End of story.

The summer before my senior year, something miraculous happened. I dropped 45 pounds in 3 months. I don’t know how. I didn’t even realize I’d lost weight until a friend picked me up to spin me around and his back didn’t break.

The weight stayed off for years…until I started dating Mephistopheles. I put 15-20 pounds back on. After we broke up, I lost the weight, and at age 26,  I was back at my senior year of high school weight.

Who could still wear her prom dress? This gal!

Then I got pregnant. And my clothes slowly started to get tight…and then not fit at all. I cried.

At 24 weeks, I’ve gained 21 pounds. I’m not supposed to have put on more than 18.

And it doesn’t matter how many times people say:

• You’re pregnant: you’re supposed to put on weight.
• Don’t worry. It’ll come off when you breastfeed.
• I’m pretty sure half of that weight is in your boobs.
• You look like what I look like now, and I’m not pregnant.
• You were small before, so you need to put on a few extra pounds.
• The doctor told you not to exercise your first trimester, so that’s expected.

None of it makes me feel better right now.

You know what else doesn’t make me feel better? When midwives say, “How much weight have you put on? Mmm-hmm. A normal pregnancy is only 25-35 pounds…. You don’t want to have a really big baby because that means you’ll need a C-section.”

Responses (in my head) to this included:

• After 2 miscarriages, I don’t care how big the baby is. I just care that she’s alive.
• My cat weighs 9 pounds. If the baby is smaller than that, I won’t know what to do with her.
• After 9 months, I don’t think I’ll care how she comes out as long as she does.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “We still don’t know how the “Sprint unlimited for life” applies to zombies.”—Dana

Welcome to the Gun Show

Recently, I’ve been pondering something, and I’ve come up with two hypotheses:

1. Sexual harassment has scared people so much they’re afraid to compliment a woman’s eyes, hair, etc.
2. I have the arms of a god.

I really want it to be #2. Here’s my proof:

• It all began years ago when a guy tried to pick me up by complimenting my arms. Seriously.
• Then JM complimented my arms at BlogHer.
• More arm compliments by Jules, Darla, and Jess in last month’s comments.

Ladies, this is for you. I’ve been a slacker lately, so they’re not muscular as they usually are. And sorry about the bruise. Damn blood draws.

But now I have a new hypothesis. What if I’m just a very dull person? What if my arms are my only attractive trait? The only other things I receive compliments on are fake. 

The other day at the gym, this conversation happened:

Gym Guy: You’re looking beautiful today. As always. You have the most perfectly shaped eyebrows.

Now seems like a good time to mention I don’t take compliments well. I end up (A) blushing and changing the subject, or (B) oversharing. Just saying, “Thank you” rarely happens. 

Me: That’s because I pluck like crazy. Seriously, my real eyebrows are just short of a unibrow. ::face-palm::

Gym Guy: And your lashes are so long!

Me: They’re fake. I glue the extra eyebrows to the lashes. It’s all fake!

At least my hair is real. I might try brushing it this morning to see if anyone says anything.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Caption: I will cut you.”—Katie and a Blog

I Would Walk 8.6 Miles For Oreos

This weekend I hiked the Applachian Trail with friends. Because they’re insane, they hiked 40 miles…in one day. Because I’m not insane, I joined them to hike 8.6 miles.

One of my hiker friends loves lemon. I once saw him down 8 lemonades at dinner.

So when I saw these new Oreos, I had to bring some on our hike.

Lemon Oreos…not the new weird Watermelon Oreos.

Worst case scenario, we could drop them on the trail to attract bears find our way back to the car.

Only…about 3 seconds before my coworkers appeared from the first 10 miles of their hike, this happened:

Water, bananas, and cookies in the passenger seat with keys in the driver seat…of a locked car.

Oops.

So we hiked away. Our mouths watering at the thought of the lemon Oreos we had to leave behind.

8.6 miles later, Kiefer picked me up, brought a spare key, and returned me to my car. I ate warm lemon Oreos the whole way home, and they were delicious.

Then I ate this delicious frozen yogurt from Yogi Castle:

I should have added more sprinkles.

Because after hiking 8.6 miles, you can eat whatever you want without feeling guilty.

Favorite Comments From Last Post:

• “Nice job cropping all the signature practice so we couldn’t see the hearts you drew on the border.”—1pointperspective
• “I think you can buy a church to get married in at Costco.”—Omawarisan
• “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s Costco. You have to buy a 12-pack of churches.”—Laura

Movie Monday: You’re in Treble

To deal with my Blarney withdraw, I went shopping. And I watched movies. Lots and lots of movies.

Starting with Pitch Perfect, here’s what I learned:

• Nothing makes a woman feel more like a girl than a man who sings like a boy.
• People work at radio stations because they like stacking CDs.
• Prince’s butt is so small that you can hold it with only one hand.
• Boone’s Farm doubles as blood.
• Horizontal running does not count as cardio.

Pitch Perfect reminded me too much of Blarney (because she sings), so I had to watch another movie to cheer me up: Drop Dead Fred.

Here’s what I learned:

• When cleaning dog poo off the carpet, it’s important to wear a dress and high heel shoes.
• You know a guy loves you when he throws spaghetti in a restaurant with you.
• Imaginary friends will play pirates with you.
• Eventually, imaginary friends leave.

Then I started to panic. Blarney was a pirate for Halloween once. And now she was gone. What if she was imaginary?!?!

Then the movie showed me that imaginary friends wipe boogers on your face. And Blarney never did that. Phew!

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Okay, I’m here. I will walk you through this. DO YOU HAVE ENOUGH POP TARTS?! This is no time to be a hero!”—Lisa Newlin

This Is as Graceful as I Get

On Sunday, I tried something I’ve never tried before. I took an aerial fabric class.

It was awesome! We learned several different climbs, positions, etc.

No, I didn’t make it to the top of the fabric. (I made it about one third of the way up through some twisting and flipping. Sorry I don’t have pics.) Learning how to maneuver your feet and legs takes practice. Only one crazy monkey girl in our class rocked it to the top of the fabric by just climbing.

But you don’t have to make it to the top to do some fun stuff.

Thoughtsy: How far up am I now? Should I look down?

Thoughtsy: I think I’m tangled. At least I’m 6 inches off the ground.

Oooo…so this is how it’s done.

Now, if you’ll excuse me…I need to spend the rest of the week icing my arms and abs.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Time to Die! I’m going to start using that as my response whenever anyone asks me what time it is.”—JM Randolph