2004-09-25 - 12:39 p.m.

So I am now feeling much better - more energy, fewer sleepless nights. I also cannot fit into 90% of my clothing. Although I haven't gained much weight yet, I can't button most of my pants, and these giant boobs (aaaahh... it's AWFUL) and little belly are making all my tops too short! That weird in-between time, where the rest of my body is regular sized. Oh, except for the beginning of the dreaded grandma arms. A few weeks ago I went to the mall with my 17 year old goddaughter, and while we were sitting on the floor of the bookstore she leaned over and pinched the back of my arm, "What is THIS??" she said. "K," I wailed, "stop it!!" She laughed - "You always had skinny arms, you never had this before!" GREEEEAT.

And, to be clear? I'm not complaining. I realize that all this is necessary and productive, and I can assure you I'm not worrying about the pounds. BUT. I am a very small girl. If you pull the skin taut on my wrist, it's about an inch and a half across. And I've never gained more than 2-3 pounds in my life. So this is an all new experience for me. And I can't lie - it's weird as hell.

Maria came down to my office the other day, Maria who has struggled with her weight all her life. And when I told her I couldn't button another pair of pants, " I lost the Huds0ns today.. my belly fat literally hangs over the waistband.." she smiled a little. "What?" I said. "Trouble, you know I love you, right? With all my heart and soul? " "yeeeaaahhh..." "But I can't lie. There is a little part of me that is SO HAPPY that for once in your life your belly hangs over your pants. I'm sorry, but it's true." I told her if that's the way she wants to play it, fine. I'm going to start wishing my adult acne on her gorgeous, flawless skin. Heh.

And on the other side of this coin, one of my highly recommended pregnancy books has detailed instructions on the pregnancy diet. So I read it, afraid that I wouldn't get enough of the things the baby needs, and let me tell you something. There is no way in hell I'm eating broiled fish and plain chicken breasts and salad with lemon juice. BITE ME. I mean, I get that you need to be healthy. I'm not a moron, I'm not going to go on the McDonalds and ice cream diet.

But I'm pregnant. I can't smoke, I can't drink, I can't even eat sushi, my skin looks horrendous, my pants don't fit, and I have a pair of giant udders protruding from my chest. Bitch, I am goddamn well eating fettuccine alfredo for dinner if I feel like it. Good God.

And in other news, I heard from my SIL last night that my (slightly crazy and oh-so-annoying) mother in law is working on a list of baby names for me. How very thoughtful. Not. Especially since I have already told her our potential girls names, and the list is full of alternates, including BRIANNA. No offense if that's your kids name, but.. um... it's hardly me. I hope she doesn't give me that list on an angry day.

last - next