No One Can Prepare You For This

Oh the joy and bliss of pregnancy. The eating (and eating and eating), the tender little movements, the enormous and almost obscene breasts, and of course the luminous skin and hair as a result of prenatal vitamins. I have felt really great, thought nothing much had changed physically except the bump (ok, and maybe the dimples on the tops of my thighs), and then there is the spray tan (see previous posting for explanation) to help keep the confidence going. And then the other day I made the biggest mistake a pregnant woman can make. I stepped onto the scale (I always turn my back when being weighed at the doctor- or have a slapping fight with the nurse who makes me weigh). And nothing could have prepared me for the evil number that glared at me from underneath my feet. I was at a friend's house when this happened so I called to her in a panic. I was sure that she would come in there and tell me that the scale was off by 20 pounds and then we would both laugh at the mistaken close call of my weighing the same as an NFL football player and then maybe even go celebrate with a milkshake. But no, my friends, that is not how it happened. She told me that the scale was not only accurate, it was doctor's-office-grade-accurate. And then confirmed that the number was in fact a whole number, with no decimals. I am not going to tell you what that number is because I feel obligated to hold on to my dignity as well as my supermodel reputation. But it's alot. ALOT. And to top it off? The baby hasn't even started putting on weight yet!! But what am I gonna do at this point? Diet? No. I am going to accept this astronomical number for what it is... sausage and biscuits, pizza, french fries, and milkshakes. And as a result, I will also accept my hamhocks that have become my arms, the cottage cheese that have become my knees, and of course the expanding road maps that have become my breasts. Amen.

Oh. No. He. Didn't.

This weekend was Mother's Day. And as most of you now know, this is the first time that I get to celebrate this special holiday first hand- as a mother to be. (It's a boy, by the way!) And so on Sunday while in Tupelo visiting the in-laws I received a tender card from my dear husband, which read "there is a surprise waiting for you back in Nashville." I held my breath with suspense as to what it might be. Could it be a custom frame that will hold the first picture of my new baby? Or perhaps a full Spa day since my joints have been wreaking havoc on my body? I could hardly wait to get back. So on Monday while at work I get a text from him that said, "Go to 112 Franklin Road to pick up your surprise". Oh! This must be something big! So big that he can't pick it up himself! I have visions of diamond pendents dancing in my head, I am carrying his child after all.

So I whip my car around to go to this mystery address. Jarrod's maybe? But when I get closer I notice it is a shopping center. Hmm... exciting nonetheless. So I find the shop of the address- JS Fields, a salon- I knew it! A Spa day! I smugly walk in with my bellly protruding, just for emphasis on how much I deserve my gift, and greet the receptionist to retreive my surprise. And what does she give me?

Yep, that would be a Spray Tan gift certificate, boys and girls. Apparently, this is my romantic husband's idea of a "Thank you for bearing my child and creating a life that will forever change our lives" gift. Priceless. So for Father's Day this year I am going to get him some Crest White Strips and call it even.

Immunity

I am not afraid to tell you that not only have I been eating during this period of gestation (this is my new favorite word, I try to use it as least twice a day), but I have been grubbin' as the kids like to call it these days. And I found out today that I am not the only one who has been noticing my newfound Food Fun House... please follow along on this story I like to call "My Husband is a Bastard".

My sister is a skinny skankbag. She is 5'7 and weighs about a buck thirty and I hate her for this. So today while she and I and my husband were at lunch, I made a feeble attempt to put food in her mouth by buying her a sandwich filled with mayonnaise and cheese. Of course she takes 3 bites and declares she is full. Then the conversation followed like this:

Me: (eye roll) Dana, you have to eat more or you will weaken your immune sytem. Hello, Swine Flu?!?

Sis: I do eat, thank you very much. And besides, I take vitamins.

Me: Vitamins are not going to be enough, you have to eat food in order to keep your immune system strong.

Bastard Husband: (Looking at me) Well then your immune system must be strong as an Ox.

Me: (lots of glaring, lots of hissing noises... silence... more glaring, more hissing noises)