You Know You are Pregnant When...

You know you are pregnant when... no one can find a spare pillow in the house because they are all tucked between your legs and under your arms.

You know you are pregnant when... you engage in a high speed car chase because "that asshole just cut you off".

You know you are pregnant when... you leave work to make a bank deposit and come back with the deposit receipt...and an ice cream sundae.

You know you are pregnant when... your breasts now need their own zip code.

You know you are pregnant when... everyone gets your voicemail when they call because you don't have the strength or motivation to get up from the couch to find the phone and answer it.

You know you are pregnant when... shopping no longer interests you because nothing fits over your muffin top anyway and too many accessories increase your risk of varicose veins.

You know you are pregnant when... you look like a hairless monkey from the waist up, but everything below the belly button resembles Chewbacca.

You know you are pregnant when... peeing feels better than sex.

You know you are pregnant when... you grunt like a pig every time you get up out of your chair.

Pregzilla

I. am. hormonal. I may seem to hide it well in public, but let's just say I am lucky to still be married right now. I am a nasty, nasty person, and I can't help myself. Sometimes, I feel it coming on, like I'm just sitting there happy as a clam, and then - boom, I am irritable and snappy. It is usually triggered by delayed mealtime ("Lay off me, I'm starving!") or when I am in the middle of one of my shows and am interrupted (I'll be all warm and snuggled in a blanket, riveted by an intense episode of Law & Order or a Lifetime Original Movie). This inevitably leads to shouting and throwing of things nearby (remote control, dog bowl - whatever I can get my hands on, really). And then, I feel the baby kicking, which makes me feel REALLY guilty and sad, so I cry. Multiple this 4x per week, and you have an environment that no one likes coming home to, not even me: the Aggravator.

I think they should have a temporary compound or assisted living home where pregnant women can go during the second and third trimester to seek shelter and serenity from the daily grind. Somewhere where they can gorge themselves on rocky road and danishes and watch all the Grey's Anatomy they want. Just saying.

Cakes and Cookies and Pie - Oh, My!

The bump has finally appeared, although in some clothes I still look like a heavy beer drinker. My soon-to-be favorite summer outfit? The mumu. Typically, these come in bold, bright colors or with some enlarged, Disney character on the front, but I will do my best to find it in black so I don't embarrass you. I can't promise I'll wear any underwear with it, though. The ribbing on the edge of my current undies are starting to cut into my skin like the string on a Christmas ham.

Speaking of ham, my recent cravings include baby back ribs and anything with mayo on it. Last night, I convinced Kevin that since we were low on butter, I might as well take one for the team and roll my corn on the cob in mayo (sprinkled with cayenne pepper and parmesan cheese, of course). He saw right through that and suggested I also top my ice cream with a dollup of Hellman's. Hmmm...don't tempt me.

20 Week Update - Halfway there!

It's a boy, and he is now the size of a cantaloupe! :) Very exciting, except for the fact that it was the one sex that I did not have a name for. I could really use some suggestions, but know that I prefer classic (but not overused) baby names - none of those weird, nouveau names like Sebastian, Brayden, or Mason.

I'm feeling pretty good, but my appetite is increasing, and I am now well over 12 lbs heavier than I was last Christmas. Yikes! The baby bump is not very noticeable because of the frumpy clothes I now wear, but if you are unlucky enough to catch me in a camisole, it's a pretty good size lump although it seems higher up than it should be (I must be carrying high?). I have occasional leg cramps, but it gives me a good excuse to sit on my ass and do nothing - which I have gotten REALLY good at doing.

17 Weeks and Well Read

Now that I am feeling more myself (despite frequent trips to the ladies and a grueling case of muffintop-itis), I have taken to educating myself on all things baby. Here are a couple of my favorites:

• Secrets of the Baby Whisperer
• Your Pregnancy Week by Week
• What to Expect When You're Expecting

I've also read a couple of fun novels about pregnant women who cope with the symptoms and say good-bye to the party-going/socialite self they once knew.

• Belly Laughs: The Naked Truth about Pregnancy and Childbirth by Jenny McCarthy
• Knocked Up: Confessions of a Hip Mother-to-be by Rebecca Eckler
  

Needless to say, my sisters will have a whole library of books to choose from when I'm done.

Cletus the Fetus

As I become more and more demanding and hormonal, I have an increasingly overwhelming desire to blame my disposition on the baby growing inside me. The ever so common "the devil made me do it" blame-game has morphed into "It wasn't me, it was Cletus-the-fetus", or "Pat wanted it". Because in truth, it is Pat (my currently androgynous, unborn child) who is dictating my every move. If I crave cottage cheese, snap at you without cause, or hog all the blankets and pillows, you can bet your ass Pat is behind it. So stay out of the way, and you can be sure that no harm shall come to you. Eat the last of my Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream, and it's open season, bitches.

A Womb with a View (not really relevent to my post but isn't it a cute title?)

At the suggestion of my sister, I am determined to make this latest post a sunnier, more positive (less-whiny) one.

Besides, now that the nausea and exhaustion has subsided, there is not much else to complain about - unless of course you count the relentless, two-week long migraine that it has been replaced with. But I digress... Positive, positive. OK, here's one: I am learning to accept my changing body. I've stopped complaining about feeling bloated and chubby mainly because I bought myself a pair of black stretch pants (sans stirrups) further affirming the fact that I have officially "let myself go". While I realize that these bottoms are currently and lovingly being referred to in the fashion world as "must have" leggings, come on, people. Let's just call a spade a spade... I wore these when I was 6 and accessorized them with a scrunchy and high-tops. Now I wear them so my continually expanding body can breathe (and so that when I get home from work, I no longer have to change into sweats). Yes, these little beauties double as both business and pleasure. The physical effort it took to change after work has been cut out and replaced with more couch time. Ahhhh, it's the little things...