The Death of the Chubby Chaser

If Justin dies because of his last comments, it won't be because of me. I promise. I've learned a great deal of patience and even more tolerance for insanity. I just knew that if I waited long enough, karma would do me justice and by dang, it did! Wa ha ha! So Justin, I won't kill you, but karma sucks and so... good luck with that.

Now, to defend myself from his last post. I am NOT a grumpy pregnant lady. He knows that. Really, he honestly knows that. (I just asked him to double check.) I think I'm quite pleasant most of the time. However, I am at the awkward stage of pregnancy. My body doesn't respond to pregnancy like the rest of women. I just get kinda chubby for a while before a belly starts poking out. This is how I feel I look in the mirror:

Seriously, all muscles go on a nine month vacation and all my skin gets loose. Then fat deposits in places I didn't think fat could deposit. I think most women can agree that you go through a phase of prego life where your cute skinny clothes don't fit but maternity shirts make you look like you're wearing a hot air balloon. Clothing is just a lose-lose situation so you can't help but have a hard time finding something to wear. I am super grateful to be prego and I can't wait to meet our new little man but clothing for the next few months will be my worst enemy. Maybe I'll just follow the Michelin Man's style and wear a scarf. Yikes!

So Justin, you will never understand how it feels to go through pregnancy or delivery, and for that I am grateful. (That would be weird if you did.) You don't need to worry about us having a girl ever. I think there is WAY too much testosterone in you. You are getting a little crazy in your old age, but I'll just blame that on the seven years of school. As for being forgiven for your post, I think either

A: A sincere heartfelt and very public apology is in order

OR

B: A treat that starts with an "i" and ends with a "ce cream" will suffice.

Take your pick sir.

Dear God, Thanks for the baby boy but...

What I really prayed for was a job, new car, and a house. Excuse me for being cynical, but that is what came to mind when Sherrie told me that I should blog about the new man-cub. I remembered it from one of those funny/inspirational emails everyone gets once in a while, and this one was compiled of letters from little kids to God. One little boy said, "Thanks for the little brother, but what I really prayed for was a puppy." Maybe I'll pay for my insensitivity in another life. I couldn't come up with any better way to announce to the blogosphere that I was right, and it is in fact, a boy! I called it at the first ultra-sound. Sherrie is mad at me right now because I'm always right, (her words, not mine) and because I told her I was a "chubby-chaser." Before you scald me with your comments, let me explain. Men are doomed when it comes to commenting on the Body Condition Score of our females. Damned if we do, damned if we don't. Sherrie is grumpy because she is 5 months pregnant, gained a whopping 1 pound last month, but somehow thinks she looks like she belongs on the Biggest Loser. And she's not the only one! Well, let me rephrase. She's not the only pregnant woman that frowns to the mirror every single day of the 9 month journey, complaining about having nothing "cute" to wear, and fearing that they look like a beached whale. She doesn't belong on the biggest loser, but there are many many out there that do. You know who you are. Anyway, during the past 4+ years of marriage and during 1 and 1/2 pregnancies, I have tried everything to convince her that she's PERFECT. I tell her how sexy she is, slap her butt, remind her how many women there are in the world that would KILL to look like her, and do a few other things that are none of your damn business. Nothing seems to work! So, I decided to try a little reverse-psychology. She was standing at the mirror and said something about how fat she looks, and I told her that I was a chubby chaser. My bad. But as miserable as it must be to watch your body change during a pregnancy, the bloating, the aching, the cramping, the stretching, the need for new/different clothes, imagine having to listen to it every day of your life and not be able to do anything about it. What do you want from us? Anyway, I'm kindof in the doghouse and decided that if she wanted me to blog, then I'd better blog.
Well, that concludes my rant. I appologize to anyone who chose to take offense to my comments. Nobody made you read what I typed. Whatever. In other news I am on the brink of finishing my thesis and graduating from college. I know what you're thinking, but a lot of people go to school for seven years, right? Anyway, we are anticipating new employment, hopefully a new car, and someday a house, but we'll be fine in the meantime. I'll be a stupid horse-shoer with a Master's degree if not. We are, in fact, extatic about the new boy. Especially me, because I don't think I can survive dealing with another female's fluctuating fat-illusions. Come to think of it, I might not make it anyway after Sherrie reads this post...