Feeling reminiscent today. I found something on the computer that I wrote while pregnant with the twins. I feel that it might be fitting for this blog:
I am sexy.
My hair needs to be washed. It is too short to really pull back into a ponytail. I try anyway. I have little wiry hairs sticking up all over my head. Nice.
My eyes are red and puffy. If my pupils were just slightly more dilated…I’d look like I did that night back in college when someone passed me a joint for the first time.
I am coughing. It’s that kind of cough that makes people wince. The one that sounds like your lung is about to come through your throat. When I speak I sound like I’ve been smoking cigars. For years.
My ass hurts. I am beginning to remember the things I don’t enjoy about being pregnant. Like the sciatic nerve thing. And the heartburn. And the fact that when I wear one of my husband’s tee-shirts…I don’t look pregnant. I just look fat.
But I am sexy. I know this. I know this because my husband is trying to convince me that all I need is some “sexual healing.” He says this as he does these remarkably obnoxious pelvic thrusts in the air. Because the combination of the words “sexual healing” with the action of thrusting your pelvis is apparently supposed to send the female mind into overdrive, making her want to jump her mate’s bones. Did I call him my mate? Primate, perhaps….
Why can’t moms call in sick? And why is it that I cannot breathe out of my nose, my head feels as though it will explode….and yet I am the one kept up all night because of my husband's snoring?
Since when did the alarm clock start saying “momma!!” instead of beeping? And why doesn’t it stop when I hit snooze? No…no…this is not Irelynn’s wake up time. I want to throw the alarm clock at Bruce’s head. But instead I get up and greet the day with the one finger salute. And a cup of regular coffee.
Marissa takes too long in the shower. Bruce can’t find his keys. Jaylond left his Tae Kwon Do uniform on the bathroom floor last night. I know this because Bruce is now in the bathroom, calling through the door…"OOPS...hey, Jay…I guess you really are a yellow belt now!!”
Irelynn informs me she wants to watch “Tar Wars…Weewoks on!!!” I am looking longingly at the Tylenol Severe Allergy pills sitting on the table. Stupid Benedryl. Oh yeah, another thing I don’t like about being pregnant.
The weewoks are singing. Marissa is complaining because today is field day…she is supposed to wear a red shirt, and the only one she has bears the name “Spanky” on the back. Where the hell did she even get a shirt that says “Spanky?” So she’s wearing her brother’s shirt. Which, apparently, is almost as bad. I have the urge to kick a weewok right now. I never used to be violent.
The kids are off to school. The husband is off to work. Irelynn is now content with Dragon Tales. Emmy and Max are talking to a walrus. Goo goo g’joob. Which reminds me…my eyes. They look horrible. And I didn’t even get to smoke anything good to compensate for it. I think I need a shower. And a nap.
Now that’s sexy.
Disclaimer: The author of this post is not on drugs. Unless you count the occasional beer, Tylenol Allergy Sinus pills, or coffee.
Man, your husband sounds like he really loves you and is still very attracted to you. Sounds like he got a lot of game, no wonder you married him. You probably just couldn't resist his smooth talking player skills. I'm surprised his last name isn't Parker with all that game.
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