Attack of the BLOB!!

So, I didn't really want this to turn into a pregnancy blog.  The same went for the wedding blog concept.  They're not funny.  Only ladies who have had the unfortunate experience of being with child will get a giggle out of any pregnancy related humor.  But, sadly, that's all I have to talk about.

I'm so fat.  This isn't funny.  None of my jeans fit me.  NONE OF THEM!!!  I went from eating like a super model pre-fashion week to squeeeeeze into that wedding dress, to eating like a pregnant chick.  I've gained 10 lbs, and I think it's all in the belly.

Thank god that it's in the belly.  Hopefully this time around I'll look pregnant instead of fat sometime before the 3rd trimester.  Not so much last time.

I'm down to 4 pairs or pants that fit me.  All but one pair are yoga pants.  I refuse to buy maternity clothes.  Firstly, they're freaking expensive.  If I'm going to spend $50 on a pair of pants I'd better be able to wear them for a lot longer than the next 6 months.  Next, I won't quite fit into the damn things yet.  They're all built with a belly panel, and I don't quite have the preggo belly yet.  I really refuse to buy pregnancy clothes in stages.  If I'm going to break down and buy them, they'd better fit for the whole sha-bang.  Lastly, as with many other clothing lines, these designers apparently feel that all pregnant women are 5' 10" and size 2 to 12.  Yes, only tall slender women are attractive enough to get knocked up anyway, so we don't have to make the pants in plus size. 

So I'm going to live in yoga pants.  This is acceptable right?  Last time around I was a teenage pregnant chick running around my senior year in pajama pants.  I didn't give a hoot what I was wearing.  As far as I was concerned the school was lucky I'd decided to wear pants.  I can't really get away with that this time.  You know, I like work and stuff now. 

I'm also a cheap bastard.  So they idea of spending $20 on what I feel double as pajama pants is painful for me.  I'm like "I could make that.  If I had a sewing machine.  Or extra time.  Or ambition.  Oh fuck it give me the pants." 

The husband thinks this is all hilarious. I've written about my surety that he's a masochist in disguise. I've said that I didn't think he was mentally challenged, because what would that say about me? I have changed my mind. He's fucking touched all right.

My dear, sweet, darling husband thinks it's acceptable to make jokes like "have you seen her new shoes? Well she hasn't either". Yeah, fuck you honey.

I had a prenatal appointment last week. I got to keep my pants on this time (woo hoo) but they took 18 gallons of blood. (I really, really hate having my blood drawn. Like I get sweaty, and turn white. Passing out isn't really unlikely, though it has yet to happen.)
I come home from this appointment and sorrowfully tell my husband that I'd gained a total of 10 lbs. since I became pregnant.

His response? "That's it?"
My response? ::SMACK::: upside the head
Him: "What did you hit me for?"
Me: "That's it? Fuck you. If you told me that your penis had shrunk an inch, and I said "that's it?" how would you feel about it?  Prick!"

Maybe that hit home.