What Lies Beneath

I was invited to a pool party this past weekend for a friend's birthday. And being that there is nothing I would rather do right now than get into a bathing suit at 8 1/2 months pregnant, I accepted. As I am talking to my sister, who was also invited, she began telling me about the woes of getting into a bathing suit right now because her stomach 'is like, so huge' and she is going to have to hold it in the whole time. I try to pretend that I have sympathy for her but really I am wanting to just sit on her. So as she continues her speech about how hard it is to be 5 pounds overweight she says this to me, "All of the girls going to the pool party have said that they are going to try and get a lounge chair beside you so they will feel skinny in their swimsuit." Gasp.

Now listen, I get it. I am 8 1/2 months pregnant; I now have cankles, cellulite in places I didn't think were possible, and currently walk with a limp thanks to baby Rinks resting comfortably on my sciatic nerve (more on that later). But beneath all that- buried under the 28 added pounds of water, amniotic fluid, and cellulite- is a raging Skinny Bitch that is screaming, "Awe Naw girl, you done went and did it now!" (As it turns out, my inner Skinny Bitch has the dialect of an inner city Latina) And she is kicking ass and taking names of all who cross her while plotting revenge in the form of P90X and Dr. Atkins, and when she emerges ladies, prepare to scatter your lounge chairs!

Me Want Cookies

It is official. I am a fatass. How do I know this, you ask? My doctor told me so. Ok, not in so many words but I went to the doctor yesterday for my check up and I have gained 8 pounds (8 pounds!!!) in 3 weeks. That, America, is almost 1/2 a pound a day which translates into a whole hell of alot of simple sugars- medically speaking. So my doctor who apparently doesn't practice tactfulness asks me, "Girl, what on earth have you been eating?!" I keep my head down, suddenly taking great interest in counting the specks on the floor and quietly answer, "Cookies."
"Like everyday??" She drills me like the cookie monster that I have become. "Uh, yeah. Sometimes 2 times a day."

That's right America. My name is Mandi, and I have a Cookie problem. I have tried to stop but I am too far gone into the dark depths of deliciousness that only the Cookie can bring. And it has cost me- 8 pounds to be exact.

So Dr. Discretion sent me home equipped with the unsolicited advise of "How 'bout laying off those Cookies?" along with the order to drink more water and eat more greens. But sadly we both know that in the epic battle of Mandi vs. The Cookie, The Cookie will come out victorious. And my thighs, in all their dimpled glory, will suffer the consequences.

Captain Clueless

There are things that every man should know; like your anniversary date, your cholesterol level, and what you should never, under any circumstance, say to a woman. I would like to take the opportunity right now to address the latter.

If you have been reading this blog then you know by now that a.) I am pregnant, b.) I have gained substantial weight, and c.) I have a husband who I affectionately refer to as "Captain Clueless". Since rolling into my third trimester (figuratively and literally) I haven't been feeling very confident and needed some reassurance. So yesterday when my husband, the Captain, came in from grocery shopping and was standing at the sink hammering open a coconut... wait a minute. Let's pull over and park right here for a second. Yes, you heard right, he was hammering open a coconut at the kitchen sink. A coconut that he actually picked up at Publix, probably hesitated for a moment before simply thinking 'Mmmm... Coconuts', and then putting it into the cart. It was actually too ridiculous of a scene to even make fun of, but of course that didn't stop me.

Anyway, like I said, I am feeling down and out and needed some reassurance so I ask, "Do you find me attractive anymore... like this?" (pointing at my protruding belly)

He looks up from the coconut and pauses... then looks down, then up at me and pauses again. I can see the wheels frantically turning in his head as he says, "Well I always find you attractive," pause, thinking, nervous laugh, pause. "But I don't necessarily see you as a sexual object right now."

Gentlemen, please take note and learn from Ashley's newfound life lesson #1,332: Never ever, under any circumstance, say this to a woman. I don't care if you would rather have sex with Hatchett Face or Janet Reno and you feel like you are in the 'safe zone' or the 'circle of truth' when she tells you, "It's ok honey, you can be honest with me." Proceed with caution as this actually means "I dare you to say no, you asshat."
This advice can also be applied to the questions, "Do I look like I have gained weight?" "Do you think she is prettier than me?" And of course the old standby, "Does my butt look big?"

So boys, consider yourself warned.

Skinny Bitches

I recently went on Vacation to the beach with some family and friends. I wanted to go before I got too big and could have been mistaken for Shamoo the Whale and tranquilized right there on the beach. So on the trip down there I learned Mandi's life lesson #1486: Never travel more than 7 hours with two anorexic bitches while you are pregnant. Enter Dana and Holly- the skinny bitches- Dana goes DAYS between meals and Holly likes to run 13 miles and lift heavy objects for fun. The three of us leave Nashville around 3pm and head down to Orange Beach to meet up with our parents (about a 7 hour trip). I notice about 3 hours into the trip we haven't stopped, nor have I heard any mention of it. Even though I am getting hungry, I haven't said anything up to this point for fear of the glares I would receive from the front seat. So I am quietly sitting in the backseat looking for leftover crumbs between the seats and hoping that one of them might pipe in any minute and say that they are getting hungry... and then I hear this:

Dana (to Holly): Hey, there is an exit up ahead, you think I need to go ahead and get gas?

Holly: Yeah, that would be good. Then we won't have to stop the rest of the way, we can just drive straight through and get there about 10pm.

Dana: Sounds good to me. (They both give each other a satisfied look)

Me (or my hormones): Wait a minute, you two anorexic skanks. I realize that y'all can split a peanut and call it dinner for the night, but Mama needs to eat! So I am choosing to play the preggo card right about now and demanding that we pull into that local burger joint right up there and get something in my stomach STAT!

Holly and Dana: (with fearful looks in their eyes) Whatever you say, Mama. Whatever you say.

Mama: 1
Skinny Bitches: 0

Oh it is good to be me.

And Now... A Message From My Hormones.

Attention Horny Teenagers:

We all get it. You are young, free, and in L.U.V. But here's a newsflash, no one wants to see you rubbing your honey's back, caressing their hair, or exploring the inside of each other's mouths while in LINE AT SUBWAY getting lunch. Guess what? We are all there to eat as well, and we actually want to keep our lunch down so let's keep the lovin' to ourselves when it's appropriate- like in the backseat of your car at the riverbanks or in your bedroom when your parents think you are crashing for midterm exams. And a word to the wise boys and girls, these same hormones that are making you feel each other up in public places while making the rest of us sick? These, girls, are the same hormones that will lovingly take over your body like aliens when you are pregnant causing you to scream and throw foreign objects at this same boy that you not so long ago were ripping the clothes off of. And then crying profusely afterwards while burying yourself into a tub of Bryers French Chocolate with a side of Vinegar Chips. And boys, these exact hormones will blame you for causing everything in the first place, making you want to end your life, or hers. So go ahead Young Ones, enjoy your blissful ignorance, but how 'bout sparing the rest of us whose raging love hormones have since mutated into cynical pessimism that is actually responsible for this very message.

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.

MapQuest Called, They Want My Boobs Back.

There are lots of things people tell you about pregnancy. Like the first time you feel that sweet little kick, or the horrible morning sickness, or even those crazy mood swings. However, many fail to tell you what happens above Ground Zero when you venture to the mounds resting due North. I discovered this hidden revelation when I was getting into the shower just the other morning and found that I could locate Utah on my left breast. Startled, I took a closer look because I was sure my eyes were deceiving me. Only when I got closer, not only did I see Utah, but I could see the capital city (unfortunately, Capital names were not listed on my breasts) lined with red and blue lines of surrounding interstates. And if that wasn't bad enough, browned biscuit-sized saucers invaded what used to be called nipples (sorry Dad if you are reading this). Sure, I know what some of you are going to say- this is a beautiful process the pregnant body goes through when the veins in your breasts expand in order to prepare for the feeding of your precious infant. Save it, because I'm not interested. I miss the days when I could boast proudly of veinless, perky boobs, proportionate nipples, and dignity in knowing that if my shirt happened to blow open on a windy day (or for some beads in New Orleans on Mardi Gras) that I could hold my head (and chest) up high and shout "Whoo Hoo! Boobies!"
But sadly, those days have come to a close and all I have left is a couple of lumpy maps that I never even learned how to read.

Thanks alot Mother Nature.

Mandi

It's Official...

I am officially showing. Do I have a big bump? you ask. Oh yes, but it just so happens that I am the first woman to carry her fetus in her ass. Hence the big bump, or rather as some may call it, the Shelf Butt. Just the other night I was able to free up my hands and carry my drink on my backside. I would post a picture but thought some of you might get turned on, and others offended, so I thought better of it. I am thinking of auditioning for the next 50 Cent video before I deliver and it all goes south (literally)... it's like I've always said, Mama's gotta work!

Shrimp and Tears

So last night Ashley takes me to a romantic dinner at Long John Silver's (had I known he was this romantic I would have married him sooner) and we are the only ones in the restaurant except for an older gentlemen sitting alone across from us. While enjoying my meal of popcorn shrimp and fries (I am very health conscience during this pregnancy) I start thinking about this old man sitting alone eating his dinner on a Thursday evening; and how he probably doesn't have any family and has no one to cook for him and is chronically and eternally alone (I haven't always been this optimistic) and I start BAWLING. Ashley looks at me like I have just sprouted green antlers and states, "Oh my god, you are crying." We sit there for an uncomfortable moment while I try to recooperate and finally I say with a touch of annoyance and pride, "I wish for just one day you could experience these hormones!" And he looks at me and says, "Believe me, I have, everyday for the last 3 months."

Meet the Gaskins

The Gaskins

Hello! We are the Gaskins and we are new to the blog world! And hold the phone, we just found out that we have procreated! I decided that now would be as good of time as any to start writing about it so perfect strangers and friends alike can be a virtual audience in our life. We are due on September 19th but according to my mother I will be 2 weeks late (she's prophetic to boot). So we are excited and I am excited to share all of my personal ins and outs of this life changing journey. So enjoy!