So, Being pregnant has made me a crazy beeoch! I've said it before, but I don't think I've conveyed the depth of my bitchatude. I mean it. I think the only reason my sweet hubby is sticking around at this point is to make sure that the baby looks like him and not Beelzebub. You know those cute movies that show a beautiful pregnant woman who simply cries while watching commercials for laundry detergent? Yeah, I'd probably smack that woman around, that is if I could get off of the couch without some sort of lifting device (lifting device = husband.) I called my lifting device "retarded" last night for not immediately wiping up the lemonade that our son spilled during dinner. I know, I'm an asshole.
Oh! And I feel oh so pretty! I need a haircut so bad. I look like a cracked-out Stevie Nicks with a henna dye job. I'm pretty sure my toenails could be used to open beer bottles- that is if I could bend my increasingly fat toes. Gross. They look like puffy Cheetos and they're not half as delicious. But they do seem to complement my elephantitis stricken feet, so I guess there is a plus side.
Oh no. I work super early and a guy who just came in and apparently thinks he's alone is singing some sort of shitty Creed-type song at top volume. He just did the "Yeyahh." I have to go throw my hot coffee on him now. Bye.
1 comment:
First of all, the title of this post is still making me laugh so hard that I can't see my screen. Reminds me of your first pregnancy :) ba ha ha ha.
You are so near the end, my friend. Sit in there (this is pregnant talk for hang in there). Your guts are loved very much by me.
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