Without getting into any personal drama that has been happening in my life… wait. Who am I kidding? Personal drama is ALL I have to write about. So I watched a few episodes of some show on tv with a blond headed chic that is pregnant. She made comments like, “Wow! The second trimester makes me look THIS good?!”- referring to the extra junk in her trunk and her ginormous boobs. And then every man that she has ever met or NOT met is like, “YOU look BETTER than EVER! WOW!”

My reaction to this, as I watch sprawled out on my couch in sweat pants, no make-up, and leg hair that would make Tarzan run screaming for his neat and orderly jungle, was a gigantic snort. As I finished up my chocolate shake.

Perhaps I have simply forgotten what my first pregnancy was like… Oh- no. I didn’t. It was a replica of the second one. Oh. And the THIRD one I’m now experiencing. My movie- if someone was so desperate as to cast me into stardom, would have scenes like,

     “OMG… do you have a DISEASE?! Is it CONTAGIOUS??- Oh… sorry… you just stopped wearing make-up… and fixing your hair… and tanning… and… shaving….”

And I loved where that chic was so giddily and merrily DATING and WORKING and strutting off her NEW body… The only thing that got close enough to rub up on me during ANY trimester was the TOILET. We were pretty much inseparable. Are. That and my bed. I kind of feel like I’m half awake- half in a coma. Truly empowering. I feel very accomplished if I get a shower and blow-dry my hair in the same day. And if I take time to put in my contacts- we’re bordering awesomeness.

So Starling pretty much comes home to his beautiful queen made up in three day old pj’s, bed head, and barf breath. No wonder he works late almost every night.

Anyway- enough grossing people out. I am happy to report that my doctor actually told me to, QUOTE, “GAIN more WEIGHT.” Omg… I was actually told during my first pregnancy that “some women just let their weight get away from them.” I did gain fifty pounds with Brooklyn. And forty-five with Brighton. What’s funny about this pregnancy is that my doctor thought that I was LOSING weight. Well- the scale did show that but what she didn’t realize is that I quit working out. Completely. So what REALLY happened was that all my muscle fell off. So my arms and legs are back to twigs. And then out pops my cute little GUT. (That is sarcasm). I look like an Ethiopian.

Starling got strep throat. Then Brooklyn got strep throat. I have the crud and BETTER NOT get strep throat. But anyway- my perfect child Brooklyn has turned into this WHINE machine that wants to be HELD all the time. And coupled, or quadrupled, with the fact I’m pregnant, sick, and chasing Brighton from room to room screaming, “NO!!!”,  my patience level has been… hmmm… in the negative digits. I find myself staring at the ceiling secretly hoping it caves in on top of me. And, Starling is working late even though he’s been sick as a dog, and so we are both exhausted. That would warrant a GOOD night’s sleep. Except our CHILDREN wake up EVERY two HOURS and I have horns growing from my skull and fire coming out my ears by morning. And STARLING is the one that gets up with them. I just have to sleep between them (because Starling dumps them on me on goes back to bed usually because they are screaming, “I WANT MOMMAY!!!”). And I endure the kicks and shrill whining until I join Charkley at the foot of the bed and lay fuming at the ridiculousness of my LIFE.

I can’t WAIT to have a new born in the house.