So I'm fifteen weeks in with Avery's little sibling and already I've developed some theories regarding planned pregnancy.
When I was pregnant with Avery, the most I required for my symptoms were a fainting couch for my pregnancy induced narcolepsy, as well as a feed bag strapped to my enormous face at all times to deal with the intense hunger that plagued me for nine solid months. Nothing to it. It was as though the Pregnancy Gods were smiling sympathetically down on me, nodding to each other knowingly, saying, "We'll go easy on her, poor thing. She never saw this coming..."
This time, however, things are a little different. This time, I'm confident they all started high fiving each other when they saw the second pink line and began plotting the turmoil they would put me through this time now that I did see it coming. I'm certain there were flow charts and timed presentations involved, as well as brainstorm meetings on how to make this the worst effing pregnancy of my life.
"Let's make her crave chocolate, but then let's make her throw up when she eats sweet things!" one bastard said. "No, even better," said the next, "Let's make her throw up all the time, but make her fat anyway!" And then they all laughed. "She wanted this! Hahahaha!"
Fifteen weeks pregnant. Thirteen pounds heavier. Beauty. Good thing I had that plan where I was only going to put on about 25 pounds. I'm over half way there already and I'm not yet half way through my pregnancy. Things are going real well. Maybe I should have planned to be 200lbs again. Maybe I should have wished for three chins this time instead of just two.
You know things are bad when people are telling you that you barely even look pregnant yet, but your underwear is having trouble containing your ass. This tells me that all my "baby weight" is really just fat ass and thunder thighs weight which is a real bitch to lose, for those of you whose thighs don't touch.
I tried to gripe about my lower body weight gain to Ashley the other night on the phone and she didn't have much to say. Probably because her thighs don't even touch when she crosses her legs. I need to stop having friends that are marathon runners and ballet dancers and become friends with people who are wine drinkers and couch loungers.
It would appear that it's time to put on my big girl pants, and not because it's time to make adult decisions or any shit like that. It's because my ass is enormous.
My favorite is when people tell me I'm "glowing". I'm not really glowing. That's just perspiration on my face because I just puked like a champ until I broke a sweat, and my back door is so large that it has it's developed a gravitational pull and now possesses an orbiting sun, which causes me to have a bit of an aura. Thanks for bringing it up. Eat shit.
I'm only fifteen weeks along with this guy, and I already know that Avery is my favorite. I don't care that it's now saved forever on the internet. Avery doesn't make me simultaneously throw up and gain weight. She doesn't make my underwear smaller or my boobs sore. she doesn't make me crave something and then heave it up 20 minutes later. She's the best child out of the two. No contest.