This morning, it happened.

I woke up this morning to the terrifying reality that the worst had come true:  My wedding ring didn't fit.  Okay, it fit, in that I could put it on and then take it off again without use of either butter or hacksaw, but it wasn't terribly comfortable, and my finger started to turn this concerning shade of darker pink.  

I have to explain it.  I have to say that I slept on that hand wrong and now it's too hot or swollen, and that after a weekend long spent Christmas play-ing, my body needs a nap to return to normal, but I know the truth.  And the truth is, I'm gaining weight and my wedding ring doesn't fit.

Although I would like to say that my current weight of 162 (and rising... so fast you can actually SEE it happen) is no where near the 180lbs I was at in early marriage days, when I was still comfortably wearing my wedding ring every day.  That's just a complaint I have.

So here's what happens now.  Over the next month or so, I'll be able to wear my rings occassionally, depending on my relative oompa loompa-ness.  And then I'll be done with it completely, or at least until the baby is out and I've lost enough weight to appease my symbol of commitment and fidelity.

In the meantime comes the bad part.  Because in the meantime, come the Looks.  If you've ever been in this position (pregnant enough that it's no longer a question as to whether or not you've just put on some tummy weight, and too thick to wear YOUR wedding ring), you are probably also well acquainted with the Looks.  The Looks always start at your face, because people still generally try to be polite.  From there, they drift to your bulging middle, and quickly (but not discretely, no matter what the Looker thinks) to your left hand.  If the Look was more pointed, you might even be able to explain yourself, but because the Looker doesn't mean to outwardly offend, but merely to inwardly judge your single-yet-knocked-up status, you'll never have the opportunity.

I know all about the Look, because I've gotten it, dozens of times.  Also, because I used to, in fact, BE a Looker.  I have seen that naked finger and tsked to myself.  How unfortunate for her, to be in such a position alone.

I can tell you all though, that I don't Look anymore.  I know now that no ring doesn't mean no husband.  Sometimes, well, it just means you're fat.

Merry 13 days before Christmas everyone!!

BEAUTIFUL PEOPOOOLE, BEAUTIFUL PEOPOOOOLE

Lately, I've been accidentally offensive to a weirdly large amount of people.  For this reason, I've spent a good portion of the last couple weeks apologizing for being a wretched human being.  Let me assure you, if you haven't had the pleasure, offending people without realizing you did, and then apologizing to everyone who's had the bad pleasure of hearing you talk words and stuff, is neither the most relaxing nor the most enjoyable way to spend your days.

So, to overcome my spat of bad luck, and to hide out and never  be recognized again, I have decided to change up my look.  Because also, it's winter, I am increasing in general girth by the minute, and it just needed to happen now.  So I dyed my hair, this fancy too color they're calling "black".  I've done that before, in high school, and spent weeks being followed around by underclassmen making Marilyn Mansen references.  But now I've got bangs, and dark lipstick, and an awesome sauce new hat, and well, just take a look for yourself:

This is absolutely as cute as I can possibly look.  I am not in any way joking.  I am trying so hard to look cute in this picture that I'm just one eye-twinkle away from pooing a rainbow. 

I've heard "pouty and confused" is super sexy on ladies.  I don't think it works so much for me...

 This is how my new look can look wickid street.  Dag, yo.

I've decided I like how my nose looks with "new look".  Now my eyeballs hurt. There has to be an easier way to admire your own nose.

There is a special funness to taking weird pictures of your own face and then posting them on the internet.  That's the exact kind of funness I've needed after the "lately" I've had.  I just hope THESE pictures don't become fodder for trolling perverts like some of my others have.

Happy Christmastime, and hope you find your much needed incognito this week!

Apples, and other relatively similar topics.

You're comparing apples and oranges.  That's what people say, right?  Meaning, I just can't compare them, they're two completely different things, you could never hold one up to the standard of the other.  It's common and I'm sure each of us has said it dozens of times ourselves.  Only here's the thing:

THEY'RE NOT THAT FREAKING DIFFERENT.  They're so incredibly not that different, in fact, that I'm starting to wonder if the saying itself is a joke.  Is that it?  Is the whole apples/oranges debate some sort of big universal joke that everybody in the world is in on except for me?  Yeah... wouldn't be the first time.

Now I get the point behind it- even though these things are typically categorized together, fruit, sweet, juicy, roundish, whatever... you can't fault an orange for being a bad apple.  But you know what would be a better analogy there?  Pretty much anything.

Such as:

Motorcycles and bed sheets.

Tank tops and breakfast cereal.

Library books and beach chairs.

Apples and rock concerts.

Because you really can't compare apples and rock concerts.

It occurs to me that the real problem here is that this idiom was created by someone with essentially no imagination, and apples and oranges were the differentest things that he could think of.  Yep, I'm attributing to a man, because apparently I'm being super sexist and assuming that a woman would have exhibited more creativity.  And talked more about shopping and fancy shoes.  Because you know, you just can't compare shopping and fancy shoes.

Does my butt look big in... yes. Yes it does.

There are about 20 different things I need to be doing this morning, but I'm putting that on hold for just a minute to check in here.  Because I'm gigantic.  Wow.  Remember the other day when I thought I WASN'T being punished for eating tons of rich, delicious food?  Yeah... yeah.

It seems that was mostly just a way to delay the pain of the truth for another couple of days.  Because if the past few days has anything to say about it, my morning weigh in is just under 160. Consistently.  And painfully.

So here's the deal: As of December 1st, I am 19 weeks pregnant (almost 1/2 way!) And I have gained right about 10 pounds from the day I found out I was pregnant.  5.5 of those pounds came this past month.  If I KEEP gaining 5+ pounds a month, I'll be 185 or more by the day the Baby Dude shows up. 

Okay, I said that to scare myself.  Oddly enough, it kind of didn't.  That was lower than I weighed for most of a year after giving birth to Maddie Pants.  I'm pretty sure that between giving birth, running and hitting that Slim Fast stuff again, I'll be able to recover from that.

Which is especially good news, because I am always freaking hungry.  And I'm severely addicted to hot chocolate.  I don't even care that I can't have regular coffee anymore.  Hot chocolate is waaay deliciouser, and taking a thermos of it to work feels somehow scandalous and wonderful.

So good news for everyone.  Everyone, that is, except my doctor, who is going to have a few words with me when I see him in two weeks.  I'm going to keep enjoying my hot chocolate, and for those of you who like that stuff, you'll get to see me work my behind off to lose a bunch of weight in a few months from now.

So really, you're welcome.  And remember, always look at the bright side of your expanding backside!  Wait...