Friday, June 17, 2011

Greetings from the Land of the Swollen



Trashy Knocked-up Mama here. Yeah, I know I look like Jabba the Hutt right now.

Holy shit, I am sweaty and swollen. I am the antithesis of the glowy expectant mother. I just want to eat cupcakes and read Facebook, as my brain has stubbornly moved into first gear. I want to clean things and organize things but I am tired. And I have heartburn.

And my left cankle is HUGE. Huge and GROSS.

Did I mention I'm sweaty?

My son helpfully tells me I look more like Ziro the Hutt than Jabba. Gee, thanks? Ziro is the queeny flamboyant one, so maybe he thinks it's a chick. Oh well.

More beach antics this weekend. I may rent a crane to get me in and out of my chair.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Beached whale

Ok, can I say, I am big as a house right now. And I went to the shore for Memorial Day weekend, and it was freaking HOT, and I sat in a very very low beach chair on the beach. Extricating myself from said chair was an exercise in grace topped only by the hippos dancing in Fantasia.



It went something like this:

Step #1, Sitting: Open chair under SPF umbrella; be sure snacks are nearby. Warily regard chair as an evil adversary. With difficulty, drop to one knee. Rotate gigantic stomach and ass till they are positioned over seat. Lower self using armrests till last possible second. Plop into seat. Sit back. Sigh heavily. Commence snacking.

Step #2, Getting Up: Sigh heavily. Scootch forward till giant stomach and ass are mostly off of the seat. Tilt heavily to one side and kneel in sand. Rotate on one knee till facing evil chair. Using armrests, heave self up, groaning. Try to retain balance so other beach items are not crushed under aforementioned giant ass and stomach. Cry, "That's right, bitch!" to chair in triumph. Walk up the beach to the bathroom and pee. Return to chair, repeat step #1.

Repeat entire process every hour or so.

In honor of the holiday, I had my toenails painted blue by a very fit Chinese man, who only seemed to know two words in English - "Ed Hardy" - based on his clothing. He seemed equally fascinated and repelled by my cankle and dirty heels.

And yes, Oscar ate crap food and stayed up till 11. Wanna make something of it? Don't fuck with the overheated pregnant lady.