These days, you'll find me either sitting on my butt at home, or sitting on my butt near a body of water, sucking down disgusting amounts of water, gushing over as much fruit as possible, and dreaming about donuts.
I'm seriously the sexiest thing ever right now.
My baby-daddy can't seem to get enough of this, with my frequent, desperate urges to pee immediately or wet myself, my newly-plump boobs lying in constant exhale on my stretch mark-riddled belly, the new armpit fat that makes wearing men's (husband's) deodorant absolutely necessary, or the fact that I can't see my upper thighs well enough to adequately shave them.
Yeah, go ahead and ask yourself how I'm not pregnant with another baby on top of this one.
Because it's a d#!n mystery.
Frequently, I ask myself whether that little boy standing next to me is staring at me because he thinks I either have snacks or because he's never seen a woman with another human inside her before, and for him this is something he's only heard stories about, like, "Mom you said dinosaurs didn't exist anymore" kind of a moment. Whatever, kid. I can be that person for you.
I also wonder if people stare because they are excited for me or are looking on in horror that I'm creating yet another child as I wrangle up my adorably terrible 3-year-old.
But currently, positively, until little miss wonderful makes her entrance in our lives, my leggings still have their stretch amidst being squeezed into daily, my sun glasses seem to be making me feel a little cooler, my baby will be here within the next month, and I can eat a whole Shack Burger with fries and feel completely fantastic afterwards.
It's the last month, people. And I'm pretty sure I'm rocking it. Like Jude is rocking this whole pooping in his pants thing, I'm rocking it.