What's a WHAT now?

Wasn't intending to write tonight.  Instead, was intending to peruse the internet while I pretended I was going to do work all the while sinking so far down into the couch that I eventually disappeared.

But once again, the internet forced my hand.

I decided to check out  my site stats (like ya do) and of course, my favoritest part, the search terms that brought people down out of the Google universe to our little corner of the world.  Lots of normal stuff about trekkies and exercise and cats, of course, and then something... new:

"What is vajerna"

That's right, apparently I've become a (the?) source of knowledge and information on colloquial terms for your hoo ha.

Once again, you're welcome, The Internet.

Oh, and for my new vajerna reader, Welcome!  I hope you got your answer, and I hope it made sense, and I hope that one day we can all be mature enough to teach scientists and medical professionals the *right* names for all of our southern bajangles.

G'night folks!

What the FUDGE NUGGET just happened here?!?

Four weeks ago tomorrow, I was 2 days shy of 5 weeks pregnant.  And I looked like this.

Pictured with my brother's wife Janae, who is due in about a month and a half!

Not too bad, 138, with a stomach as flat as it's been these days.  Not too bad at all.  Once again, this picture was taken 1 day short of 4 weeks ago.  This picture was taken 27 days ago.

And this is me today.

SO I REPEAT.  WHAT. The fudge nugget.  Just happened here?!?!

I'm 8 1/2 weeks pregnant, and the baby is the roughly the size of a grape.  A GRAPE.  Now Grape-baby's home is apparently about the size of a grapeFRUIT, so that... I don't know.  That's bigger I guess.  I think the real culprit lies with the severe loss of integrity my stomach muscles have seen over the last four years.  It's like when you blow up a new balloon.  The first time, it almost hurts your cheeks.  The latex is tight and it fights the expansion.  It makes you WORK to blow it up.  But the second time... the third.... you pretty much just need to think about it the balloon is full sized again.  

And now, it seems, I am a thrice blown up balloon.

So besides my giant size, here's the other stuffs:

My Weight: 142.  4 pounds up already.  And yeah.  You can see where those 4 pounds have gone.

Baby:  Sonogram on April 9. Heartrate 139bpm.  The picture is too small and fuzzy and what not to be worth posting, but we saw and heard the heart, and that's money.  

Due Date: November 25, 2013

Symptoms:  Sleepy constantly.  Nauseous constantly.  And (somewhat) cranky.  But I blame the first two symptoms on that one.  Besides that, I'm an absolute PEACH to be around.  I swears it.  Oh, and zero vomitando so far.

Gender predictions:  Husband is adamant that we're having another boy.  Of course, this is because his family had a girl-then-two-boys configuration, and their third (him) was also an accidente, so it just feels natural that our accidente is a "him" too.  The Chinese calendar predicts a girl.
Name ideas:  Madelyn suggests we call the new kid Batman.  Not just suggests, insists.  Like, she really won't let this one drop.



Lastly, and unrelated, here is a picture of my son (Captain Middle Child), who was pouting because I told him that playing with a nightlight plugged into an outlet was a "no no".  I think it's crazy precious.

Happy Friday, Friendos!

Real, Real Beauty. No, really.

I've watched this video a couple of times now, and seen it posted by about 13 million of my closest Facebook friends.  And it's sweet.  Or it's sad.  I'm not sure.  But the basic point is simply this: "You're not as ugly as you think you are".

The video is part of Dove's Real Beauty campaign, and shows us (through the work of crack forensic sketch artist) that we describe ourselves as distorted horrifying monsters, and others see us as... you know.  Humanish.

It's interesting, it's thought provoking, and it probably holds some truth.  Yeah, I'm sure it holds some truth, and that's why it resonates.  We know we are hard on ourselves.  And we hope, we pray, other people are less harsh.  We really want to believe deep down that we are hotter than we think we are.

Some people certainly are, we've all met them.  But we've also met people who could never ever actually live up to their high opinions of themselves.  It simply HAS to be true that some of us are not as sexy as we think we are.  Bummer, yo.

If we're going to be honest with ourselves, most of us probably vacillate somewhere between the two.  I know personally (sad confession, NOT A JOKE) my opinion of myself has risen pretty dang dramatically with the weight loss over the past few years.  In 2009, I was probably a 4 or 5 who thought I was a 2.  And now, I'm a solid 6 who sees a smokin' hot 8 or 9 in the mirror.  (Well, not RIGHT now because RIGHT now I'm bloated and chubby and sleepy and developing that terrifyingly zitty, hairy face that they mockingly call the "glow of motherhood".  Hot dang, I'm a 12 year old boy.  That is what I am.  I am a 12 year old boy with a pizza face and an almost-mustache.  Oye.  Here's hoping my voice doesn't start to crack.)

Towards the end of the video, one of the real-beauty ladies spoke about how your opinion of your own appearance affects your life.  She says it "couldn't be more critical to your happiness".

And my brain let out a scream.

Come on people.  Come on women.  Come on America.  Come on come on come on.  My opinion on my own hotness or notness is the most critical thing to my own happiness?!?  Listen to the words, which are really the crux of this whole campaign, and listen to the problems they bring.

Because according to those women's words, if I thought I was a 2, and now I realize I'm a 5, wouldn't I be happier still with a boob job? Face lift?  Lip... bigger-maker? Wouldn't I be happier if I could make myself an 8? A straight up 10??

The problem with this campaign is that they are trying to fix all of our lady-sadness by having us look into the mirror, past the rolls and the zits and the wrinkles and the just plain weirdnesses we all have, and to call ourselves beautiful.  Which feels sweet and wonderful, and maybe is a lie.  Because honestly, maybe we're not all that and a bag of chips.  Some of us are pretty, some terrifyingly gorgeous, some terrifyingly un-gorgeous, and most of us are so-so.  Some of us are creepy intelligent.  Some of us are dumb as bricks.  Some people are the most interesting man in the world.  Some people are extremely dull.  Those people are called accountants*.  Some people are so nice that pretty little birdies help get them dressed in the morning.  Some people eat those other people.

The point is, I am not perfect.  You aren't either.  None of us is all of the good things and none of the bad things.  If my happiness is based solely on my perception of own personal quality, then I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be getting out of bed any time soon.

The real problem with thinking too highly of myself and thinking too little of myself is the same:  I'm thinking too much about myself.

Who CARES if my ears are too big and my feet are too long and my head is too giant-basketball shaped?!  This story isn't about me.  And big ears give you character.

So here's my advice for the day, that I give to you and to me: Get over yourself.  When you start to worry that maybe you aren't perfect, realize you're right.  And focus your attention a little bit more on the ONE who is.  I heard somewhere once that He's a more reliable source of happiness than good hair days.

*Side note, I apologize directly to my mother-in-law, who is an accountant AND a wonderfully interesting woman.  Except, of course, when she gets to talking about accounting.

Post- Easter Foolishness

Oh gravy, I would like to vomit.

I feel sick for not eating, and then I eat, and then I feel sick for eating.  It is a generally unpleasant experience.

Yesterday was Easter, and I'd like to take umbrage with how many holidays or "food events" take place at the very very end of a month, forcing me to have crap-tastic weigh-ins on the first of every month.  It sure feels like a lot.  Like, an unfairly large amount.

Or maybe I'm making up excuses.  Because today I'm 139, which is a pound gain in the past couple of weeks, and if I gain at that pace during the first trimester, I'll be back up to giant and terrifying numbers in no time.

Which is why I assume it's probably the calendar's fault.

Every day I've been feeling a little extra wretched, which is great.  Because apparently, it's a Very Good Sign.  In the mean time, I'm still trying to find the food that makes the nausea less wretched.  If I find something, I'll be sure to let you now.

Happy April Fools Day, folks!  I was planning to tell you I was pregnant but... ya know.  Redbox just sent us a joke about selling lunch meats through their machines so that people can get snacks with their movies... oh Redbox.  You so crazy.