12 weeks- the return of the ghetto booty

When I was pregnant with Cameron, I had like an all-over fat suit. Head to toe. Then, when I got pregnant with Gabby, I acquired a big, hilarious J-Lo ghetto booty. Based on the early reappearance of that booty, Dave is even more convinced that it’s a girl. In fact, on Saturday night we were hanging out with friends, and I turned around to see Dave and my friend’s husband, looking at me and whispering. I said, “What? Is this about my ghetto ass?”  Long story and lots of denial short: it was.   Oh well; at least I have stopped the progesterone supplements, so cross your fingers for me that my Pamela Anderson-size chest deflates a little.  It’s like a burlesque show FFS.  (Have I ever told the ghetto booty story?  When I was pregnant with Gabby, I walked past a storefront window and saw a pregnant woman inside.  My train of thought went like this: “Oh, there’s another pregnant woman.  She’s about my size.. she’s got a HUGE ghetto ass, though.  Also, she’s walking the same direction as m— oh, God.  It’s my reflection.”)

We had our annual Christmas brunch on Sunday.  I wasn’t feeling well, so my friend Ann made me a really awesome Virgin Mary on the premise that morning sickness was similar to a hangover.  She was RIGHT.  I think I may be obsessed with Virgin Marys now though– I’ve had like a dozen in the last, okay, hour and a half.

And one final note: Dave picked up some book about properly combining foods for optimal health, which I was perusing last night. The gist was that, basically, if something is delicious– don’t eat it.


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