I write a lot considering how infrequently I post anything.
I always think I have this great idea, start writing, lose focus and just end
up with some piece of shit paragraph about how I drank 4 Gatorades in 2 hours
(I did.) I am always afraid that my writing is so boring which I now realize is
such a 2002 fear. We are living in Facebook time. People will read anything.
Like...almost every day on my newsfeed there is a wordsearch that 4,965 people
comment on saying the first 3 words they saw, so this blog definitely cant be
the worst part of your day. I mean, it’s no “ Where would you have
disintegrated in Hiroshima?” quiz, but I think it’s pretty OK.
As far as this baby goes, I honestly don’t have that much to
report. The growing is constant. The cute, pregnant lady I had pictured that I
would be for my entire life does not exist. I have always been giant and now I
am just more giant. I am definitely not exploding like Jessica Simpson (I
haven’t even eaten one PopTart with butter on it), but it is hard to be cute
when you are 5’8 with a size 10 shoe to begin with. The enormous belly doesn’t
help my lack of adorableness. In my next life I am coming back as one of those
white, baby seals. Or the smallest, youngest member of the U.S. Olympic
gymnastics team who steals America’s heart. Tiniest white seal in a leotard
would be the best option.
One interesting thing is that we do not know if Baby Ray is
a boy or a girl. For some reason this drives people to insanity. Everyone
thinks that we absolutely must have a perfect pink or blue room ready for our
legally blind bundle of joy that doesn’t know one thing about anything. Babies
can’t see! Babies are so dumb! They also don’t really leave the house and do
you want to know how I dress when I don’t leave my house? Wicked ugly. Of course we are going to have a nursery for
our baby and buy it nice, comfortable clothing, but I can’t see myself, 15
years down the road, sitting in family counseling because my kid didn’t have a
“ Handsome Like Daddy” onesie smashed onto his body one minute after birth.
That being said, I completely understand wanting to know what your baby is
because I am so, so, so nosy and terrible by nature. But guess what? I am always happy and I always click “like”
when you announce your baby’s gender on Facebook, so just let me have my gray
room filled with weird, beige bunny clothes. Thanks.
So, overall, I feel great. I still do my regular workouts
(though a little modified) and I walk a few days a week. My boobs are so weird
but I don’t want to talk about it. My appetite is low to normal with the
occasional “ Eat like Magic Johnson’s son” day thrown in (watch Rich Kids of
Beverly Hills.) My weight gain is actually low (in a good way, not a scary way)
which I will casually mention to anyone who will listen until the day I die. My
arms, face and neck have since depuffed from the pictures taken of me at my
cousin Meg’s wedding when I was 12 weeks pregnant #blessed. Everything is good!
I apologize if reading this took time away from finding out
what happens if you stare at 3 dots for 15 seconds and then look quickly at a
picture of a donkey wearing a dildo on its head. Sometimes the best things come
to those who wait.
