Is That A Chip On Your Shoulder Or Do You Just Want To Hurt Me?

Jon said to quit talking about it. Said I would loose my readership. Said they'd get bored reading about all the crappiness that IS my pregnancy. But you know what? I'M the pregnant one. I'M the one that scares people simply walking into a restaurant. I'M the one who gets the "Dear LORD, is she going to give birth right here in the post office? Right in front of me? She looks like she's going to POP!" looks. I'M the one being trapped between the birthday cards and some lady's shopping cart as her hand flutters giddily toward my belly. I'M the one who has to listen to endless stories about all things birth and baby related (which either freak me out or bore me). So, naturally I'm a little grouchy. And if I WANT TO WRITE ABOUT IT I CAN! BECAUSE, GOSH DARN IT, I'M THE ONE WITH A HUGE BELLY THAT GETS CAUGHT IN BETWEEN THE PASTRY CASE AND THAT BUS DRIVER AT THE COFFEE SHOP!

OK, very grouchy.

True Story:
I have a friend that I've known since college who posted on Facebook that she couldn't find her motivation. I, in my ill-tempered, crusty, petulant, cantankerous way told her it was "In her butt." I'm sure she totally appreciated it too because apparently she found it PANTS shopping. Which can only mean one thing: my irritable pregnancy hormones have given me PSYCHIC POWERS!

Now I'm awesome. Because I'm a super hero with super powers that give me the right, no, the DUTY to walk around town with a huge ill-natured, obstinate, testy chip on my shoulder, because I might find your keys or your great Aunt Gertrude's pink pearl necklace or something. My grouchiness is for the good of all mankind.

True story:
I'm having lunch all by myself at this little cafe down by the waterfront. Katie is spending the day with Daddy and I'm trying to savor what little time I have to sit by myself not feeding, wiping, or trying to fake enthusiasm for another conversation about Fancy Nancy with someone else. Then I notice the woman in the corner. She's staring at me. "What?" my eyes shoot back sarcastically (because I'm a super hero and my eyes can totally talk) "Do you not like my taste in books? Do I have salad dressing on my chin? OR COULD IT POSSIBLY BE THAT YOU SIMPLY CANNOT BELIEVE THE SIZE OF MY BELLY AND ARE DOING THAT DEER IN THE HEADLIGHTS THING BECAUSE YOU'RE CONVINCED I'M GOING TO DROP A NEWBORN RIGHT HERE AND GET PLACENTA ALL OVER THE PERFECTLY POLISHED HARDWOOD FLOORS? HUH, LADY? HUH??" (I said my eyes could talk, I didn't say they were good at telling people off.) Then, the staring lady got up, picked up the leash for her SEEING EYE DOG and threw her trash away.

Crapazoidal. I may not have super psychic powers after all.

Tweet Thoughts*

Can you find the real tweet among the impostweets? the fake-o-tweets? the countertweets? the trick-or-tweets? (I'll stop now.)


-My favorite swear word is crapazoidal. I've either been married to a math geek for too long or am channeling Scooby Doo.



-The best thing about being pregnant? I can wear whatever I want and no one has the courage to tell me I look like a freak. (This is not as bad as it can get.)



-You know how if you eat a lot of beets your urine turns purple? What happens if I gorge myself on beets the week before I give birth?



-My three year old just asked me for the cribbage board.


-No. Like you don't understand. This mac and cheese was life changing!



-Zoinks!



*That is, if I actually used Twitter and didn't think it was another insidious plot for world domination by super Buck Rogers computers.

Totally Inappropriate Thoughts

Inappropriate Thought #1
So, as you all are more than abundantly aware I am hugely pregnant* but at 37 weeks I expect a little more sympathy from Jon. But no. The man is insensitive enough to decide ONCE AGAIN to undergo major surgery just weeks before I go into labor. Seriously, I thought it was supposed to be ALL ABOUT ME now. When Katie was born he not only thought getting his knee scoped out (looked clean enough to me) was a good idea but that he'd change jobs too, with Kathleen only 6 weeks away! And then, yesterday he decides he has appendicitis, convinces a doctor to take it out and gets a nice cushy overnight hospital stay as well! What is that?! Also, is it in bad taste to save the bed urinal they sent Jon home with for Katie to play with at the beach this summer?

Inappropriate Thought #2
While I'm sure it's probably a federal crime for me to walk my hugely pregnant* belly past airline security in my 37th week (who knows how much explosive stuff I could be hiding in there), I can't help but wonder if I could get away with a spontaneous trip to Tahiti (or Phoenix) wearing this t-shirt:

Because what pregnant woman in her right mind would wear a shirt with not only a fetus on it, but one that welcomes fat jokes? (BTW I've wanted one of these since week 5. I guess Santa didn't get my letter again this year, gonna have to start standing in line at the mall to have a talk with the big guy. With fishing weights in my pockets.)

Inappropriate Thought #3
Bobbleheads. Specifically a Jesus bobblehead. Imagine, a whole Sunday School curriculum designed around:
He'd need a donkey of course.
And his twelve disciples.
I may not be a Star Wars fan, (although I did see that one with the city in the clouds) but even I can pick out Judas from this line up! Obviously it's the old guy.

I could even throw in a few Old Testament stories, like Samson


and Delilah
Which would have been a completely different story if Delilah had actually owned the Golden Lariat of Truth.

And lastly, Inappropriate Thought #4
Could I train my new infant to fetch this toy like a well trained border collie?
It's not like I won't toss them a Cheerio now and then. If they sit up and beg.



*"GET OVER YOURSELF ALREADY!!" (Yeah, yeah, I can hear you from here.)