My really bad, rotten day…

Today, my intern told me I was starting to show. Now, to be fair, I am. It just hasn’t been obvious to anyone but me. Hence the following conversation:

Me: “Oh, really? How so?”

Intern: “Your booty! You are finally starting to develop a backside!”

Me: “So…wait. What? My a$$ is getting bigger?”

Intern: “Don’t worry about it! It is just the baby finally starting to show itself!”

Me: “You do know where women carry babies don’t you?”

Intern: “Yeah. Why?”

Me: “There isn’t a baby in my a$$.”

Intern: “Oh. Well, maybe it just those jeans you are wearing today.”

Lesson I: My jeans make my a$$ look pregnant.

(Perspective for Lesson II: I’ve gained approximately six pounds in eighteen weeks.)

Then, at the gym this afternoon, I broke a weight milestone that I had been dreading since finding out I was pregnant. Granted, it was unavoidable, but that didn’t make it sting any less. Especially after the “fat a$$” morning I’d had.

This weight discovery was closely followed by my trainer thinking I was about to celebrate my 35th birthday.

I’m turning 31.

Lesson II: I am an old and heavy fat a$$.

(Fat a$$ or no, I was still able to burn over 1,300 calories during my 1.5 hour long workout. Which means that while my a$$ is all old and heavy, I can still whoop yours.)

(Not that I would. It is just the hormones talking.)




Finally, upon getting out of the shower last night, I happened to catch Trevor staring at my stomach with a boyish grin on his face while I was drying my hair.

Me: “What are you smiling about?”

Trevor: “Nothing. You are just finally starting to show, that’s all.

Lesson III: My a$$ isn’t the only thing getting bigger.

I’m pretty sure Trevor meant this as something to be excited about. Maybe even as a compliment. But, by this point, I was irrational and more than a little sensitive. So it should come as no surprise when I tell you that I flicked him off and stormed out of the room.

(Again. Unreasonable. Hormonal. Blah, blah, blah.)

The End