So I was going to talk about underwear, because it's very much on my mind, or rather, my abdomen. I mean, it was, until I folded it down.
Because postpartum, once I was out of the gigantor hospital undies, I went out to Target and got huge cotton underwear that came up way past my scar and kind of helped hold in my sloshy belly. Which I made the mistake of putting on today and now they're squeezing my little baby house.
But then I was thinking, does anyone really want to hear about my underwear? So that's probably all I should stay about that.
Speaking of baby houses, the kid is all kicking and turning and flipping and generally, I assume, keeping herself amused in there. She's busy, I tell you.
I'm now 21 weeks, which means that due-dately speaking, I am more than halfway done. Even though it is likely that I will go past it, it's nice to have the countdown to the end be smaller numbers than the ones behind you.
If that makes sense.
Speaking of behinds, which I'm sorry, kind of leads back to my underwear, or rather the reason I thought the big ones were a good idea. Ass containment and all.
Because this! Sometime between Wednesday night and Thursday afternoon, when I was doing squats and happened to look sideways in the gym mirror, my ass doubled in size.
Doubled. I am not kidding.
And because I have been through this science experiment before, I was all, "Crap. The ass explosion has begun."
I apologize for how that sounds. You understand that what I mean is that my ass is just going to just grow exponentially from here on out. Kind of like a chia pet in my pants. God, that's not a better visual, is it?
Anyway, it is about size and NOT that I suddenly have no control over my fecal matter.
Oh, god, which reminds me. Also: one of Jordan's diapers - we have to assume dirty, although also we can fairly safely assume JUST PEE - somehow made it into the washing machine. We only realized it once our clothes came out of the dryer with shockingly tenacious white clumps on them.
You know how sometimes you run a Kleenex through? And you wind up with tons of white speckles that are a pain to get off? But they're not like totally industrial white chunks that cling to your clothing like it's the only thing between them and death?
We're running the load through the washer again. In case. Because, well, really, does anyone actually need a because?
OK, I'm stopping now before it gets any worse.