Last night, as Tom and I were getting ready for bed I swear I heard him say "Moo" when I was climbing underneath the sheets.
He didn't, of course.
But what he did say was that he liked my chubby cheeks.
CHUBBY CHEEKS? WHO HAS CHUBBY CHEEKS?
That was my reaction when he said it as we ate our dinner.
I promptly dropped my taco and pushed my plate away.
"I said I liked them," Tom repeated, quickly trying to redeem himself so I didn't hurl my leftover taco across the table at him.
"I don't want to have chubby cheeks!" I hissed. And then picked up the taco and took a bite.
I can't help it.
I'm always hungry.
I'm constantly walking into the kitchen and rummaging through the fridge the freezer and then finally, the cupboards.
"We have nothing to eat!" I'll wail even though we just went grocery shopping.
And another complaint?
Nothing fits right these days.
When I first found I was pregnant I imagined myself wearing cute maternity clothes. Of course I soon realized that the really cute stuff came with a hefty price tag. $40 for one shirt? I don't think so.
I managed to find some decent things and in the beginning, they worked well.
Oh no, nothing fits.
I have several pairs of maternity pants that sit mid belly.
At least that's what the tag said.
Hah, they don't stay mid belly, they constantly slide down to my waist.
And my shirts, which are now size medium, are growing small. They stop right below my belly button so when these so called mid belly pants fall down you get a peek of Natalie.
I DON'T LIKE IT!
My pants are also size medium because I can't breathe properly in smalls anymore.
(And as I recall, being able to breathe is an important thing.)
The only things that fit right are my sweat pants. I'm tempted to just walk around in those.
Cute maternity clothes be damned.
And my hair!
I have no idea what's up with my hair.
I know hair growth is rapid during pregnancy but this is ridiculous.
I constantly have knots in my hair and, if you can believe it, my hair sticks out even more than it did before.
Yes, I am Miss Frizz Ball.
Always have been.
But now I'm Miss Major Frizz Ball.
If I stand behind a person they're most likely to jump and be all, "AHH..oh um..you're glowing..."
Some women have that pregnancy glow, mine is just sweat.
Some days I actually feel sorry for Tom because he does try.
He rubs my feet, my back and asks how I'm feeling.
Then he'll take a shower and put on his special cologne that always made me jump on him before.
Now if I jumped on him I'd crush him.
All I can manage these days is a few kisses and then my stomach lurches and I have to pull back.
He still thinks it's cute to hump my back when I'm bending over looking for, what else, food.
That's when I snap at him.
"There's more to life than sex!" I'll scream.
"But we haven't in so long.." he'll reply and give me a little pout.
The last time we had sex it wasn't exactly fireworks.
I sort of laid there, because what else can I do? I can barely move without help! Gone are the days when I'd be all over the place and take the lead. If I took the lead now, once again, there is a possibility that I'd smother my husband.
"Hello 911? Yes, I finally gave into my husband's needs and I believe he's turning blue now.."
So yes, I just was there and Tom did his thing and I sort of shouted out a few, "Oh that's nice," even though what I was thinking is, "Please don't crush our daughter. Oh no I forgot to move the clothes from the washer to the dryer AGAIN!"
I just can't get myself into the mood.
I mean I can barely put my socks on let alone make love to my husband.
Tom found me on the living room floor, flat on my back with my feet raised above my head as I struggled to get my sock on.
"What are you doing?" he asked, peering down at me in confusion.
"Trying to get my socks on," I replied and struggled to get the darn thing over my fat toes.
Tom ended up helping me out.
And he tied my shoes because I can't do that very well either.
Oh and it takes me five minutes to bend down. I dropped my pen and it was almost comical how I finally made it down to pick it up.