1. I am officially 27 weeks pregnant. That's 6.5 months. 13 weeks until the big D-Date. All these : third trimester vs. weeks vs. months STILL baffle me, and I'm a bit of a veteran. Whatev. I feel like I just took that pregnancy test, and here I am, truckin along. Just call me Large Marge. I took a pic to document this monumental large bellied occasion because even though I HATE it I know I'll regret it later if I don't...quite a few of you had asked so here ya go. Unfurled in all my glory. {Well, if I wanted to show you ALL my glory I could always take a pic in an old bikini top, a-la white trash style, but I shall spare you. And your subsequently broken computer screens.}
2. Jamin and I ventured to lunch today while Aiden was at school. We went to a fancy shmancy "pinky place" as Jamin calls them: Nancy Patterson's Bistro. I waddled into the door with Emmy in arms while he parked the mini and when seated, I promptly asked for what any other parent would: a high chair.
"Oh, we don't have high chairs," the waitress replied. "You DON'T have high chairs?" I repeated slowly in disbelief. I then looked around and saw a crowd of people around 50 years older than me dressed to the hilt in their Boca Raton-ish zebra prints and sparkly shoes smattered with bright pink toenails and spray-ons. I was looking cute, but I wasn't trying too hard. Jeans. Cute top. Actually showered. This was beyond the point. Please tell me: WHO DOESN'T HAVE HIGH CHAIRS? This restaurant is a nice place smack dab in the middle of the downtown projects. A little fecicious of themselves not to offer high chairs. I wasn't raised solely in a Mickey Dee's, and I have actually eaten in some pretty nice places, and NEVER ONCE have I failed to receive a high chair when seated. This restaurant was a complete waste of time, and I am insulted by the discrimination I felt for bringing a babe in arms, being forced to HOLD her the entire time. Seriously? You people are losing major business with your snooty no high chair policy. Get over yourselves. I won't be going back, child or not. You're not that great.
3. I have griped to the ends of the earth regarding the changes the pregnant body does go through. Forget the fact that my waist will probably never return to its original shape, and my thighs now officially have globules of fat hanging off of them from years of prego induced cheetos consumption. I can now officially throw my girls over my shoulder so that my babes can ride piggy back and eat on the go. But let's talk about the not so common changes. I had a friend who's nose grew. Permanently. I knew a woman who sounded like a man after she gave birth to triplets. Her voice literally dropped three octaves and I thought she was a transvestite. So I can't complain, TOO much. But here's the deal. My hair was straight as a board. Then I had Aiden, and with each subsequent babe, an entirely new texture entered my life. Kinky hair. And it's not good beach hair kinky. It's curly in the back, straight in the front, botched perm circa 1985 kinky. In the mornings, I feel as if I can mount our king sized bed, throw on a miniskirt with high heels and give an extremely moving rendition of "What's Love Got to Do With It" Tina Turner Style-A private concert for my three adoring fans plus Chloe. Because my hair looks like that. I am so Tina Turner. Help. Please share any weird changes you experienced. I'm completely frustrated. I feel so alone!!!
...Have a great weekend!