I can eat a Luna Bar in the store, and pay for it when I check out, excusing myself for eating while shopping, shame free, by telling the cashier I'm pregnant.
My skin is now a size too small. I need a large or extra large for the next several months.
Driving home from Target, wearing sweats, eating CheezIts and candy while talking on the phone and driving 55 mph.
Forgetting to pay for one of my items at the craft store, and again excusing myself for my spaciness by telling the cashier I'm pregnant.
Coming straight home from work, and napping on the couch until my husband gets home.
Wearing Alex's pajama pants to bed. And all around the house. And outside. Every single day.
Constantly thinking about baby names. Even watching the credits of bad sit-coms in case they might have names I like.
Guilt-tripping my husband for playing disc golf and leaving his pregnant wife at home all alone on a holiday from work.
I shouldn't have to pick up dog poop. So I don't. Even if Alex isn't with me. Yes, I am now one of those people.
I can watch tv whenever I want and not feel guilty about it.
Carrying toilet paper in my pocket in preparation of the daily bloody nose.
Farting when I take my morning pee.
You. Crack. Me. Up.
ReplyDeleteAnd Yes, I am reading your entire block, backwards.