I recently announced that I'm pregnant (felt so good to come out of that closet!). In fact, I'm 17 weeks today (due January 3rd) and becoming more and more shall we say "amazed" by the things that my body is doing. And because it's always great to have another excuse reason to spout off about something, Liz & I decided I should write a regular feature called, "Maternity Mondays."
So... I'm hoping all you moms out there will weigh in and remind me that I'm not alone in this- that you went through it too! Oh, and I'll definitely be hitting y'all up for some advice (don't even get me started on stroller selection!).
So, without further adieu, here's my first major, er, prego "observation".
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Can't Touch This.
No, I'm not looking back on the 80's and getting all warm and fuzzy inside at the thought of MC Hammer's hit tune (although the song still has quite a ring to it!), this is the track that plays in my head every time my husband remarks on my gargontuean post-prego ta ta's. (They were a 32DD pre-prego if that tells you anything!)
It seems like every time my freakshow, Jenna Jameson breasts are exposed, my husband is there. It's like he has radar. I step out of the shower, there he is! I change my shirt, oh hello, honey! I remove my bra because it only makes my tits hurt more, yup, he's there yet again. Wide eyed, tongue wagging, wanting me to throw him a bone.
Damn those are HUGE
Wow, they just keep getting bigger, don't they?
Um, can, I pleeeease touch them?
I look at his puppy dog eyes. He's like a kid in a candy store, wanting it all. And I try to find the right way to say...
Um, no honey you can't. Unfortunately, they are for display only. Because not only are they sore as sh*t, but the day I first hit the toilet and lost my lunch, I'm pretty sure I lost my sex drive too. And the last thing I need right now is your mits all over my achy, nauseous, tired junk. But I love you...
As I watch his face fall while he mentally tries to calculate the last time he touched any part of my body (I don't even want to do that math!), I think that all I need is a pair of those hideous parachute pants that Hammer used to wear (hey those could double as maternity wear!) and it definitely would be Hammer time!
Woh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh Can't touch these (at least until next trimester!?)