Driving Miss Lazy

Supposedly my car is too difficult to get into and out of. At least for a lazy person. And by lazy, I mean pregnant. And by difficult, I mean requiring much moaning and sighing. However, when I say pregnant, I mean to say carrying my children. And it may not be so much unnecessary moaning and sighing, as it really is lower and more bucket-like than a bucket sitting on the ground. And it may not really be "carrying my children" so much as gracefully and elegantly bearing the magical burden of the fairer sex. Then, when I make the ground-bucket comparison, I have to specify that it would be an incredibly comfortable bucket with ample leg room. When I say the fairer sex, I mean women, and by incredible burden, I mean creating and bearing life.

Anyhow... as she gets bigger, we'll probably take her car more.

Looking good in there!

Had another appointment yesterday, and it sounds like they're having a grand old time in there and aren't teaming up with battering ram at the gates. A nice long cervix and a pair of fetusi training to be gymnasts.

Nothing very out of the ordinary has happened this week, so I started about things where having two sidekicks is going to be better than one:
-Robbery: one on the front door, one on the back, and I get the goods
-Parent-trapping: They can switch out and trick Abby and I into dating
-Dressing up as pairs of things: e.g. R2D2 and C3PO, Cagney and Lacy, Turner and Hooch, Thunder and Lightning, Frodo and Sauron
-Party Hosts: one with drinks, the other with snacks
-Booger production
-Wearing the kids as boots
-Asking, "Are we there yet"

Wasting Away Again In a Suburb of Margaritaville

Here is the breakdown of what I did this weekend, and what I assume Abby did this weekend:

Friday-
(Afternoon)
Des: Finished work, came home, packed and met up with Mark to go camping out in central Washington
Abby: Ate. Ate some more. Watched bad TV. Waited for Des to get home. Ate again. Told Des she'll starving to death.
(Night)
Des: Arrived in a small town close to Othello, consumed fermented malt beverages, debated the validity of the DH rule, the best type of ketchup, threw rocks at other rocks, peed outdoors, explored a field, saw a waterfall, peed at the waterfall to prove it's inadequacy.
Abby: Got comfortable, fed the dogs, ate again, sleep

Saturday-
(Early morning)
Des: Finish sitting around the fire, sleep
Abby: Wake up to pee. Inhale a powerbar and a handful of trail mix.
(Regular morning)
Des: Wake up, fail to light the stove, agree that contracting out coffee and breakfast production is probably for the best. Then, make an entire rural diner awkwardly avoid eye contact with the rowdy table of twenty-something, stinky, men.
Abby: Continue sleeping. Ignore the dog's pleas to be let out or fed. Feel no remorse for it.
(Afternoon)
Des: Extreme Bocce. Loser rolls the cooler.
Abby: Eat. Nap. Head to Bellingham for fair food, family, festivities, and alliteration.
(Evening)
Des: Enjoy a calm, un-sunburned, entirely sober, non-dude-tacular, intellectually stimulating, spiritually fulfilling, dust-free night in eastern Washington.
Abby: Arrive home, eat, watch more TV, eat again, and settle in for a night of Des-free slumber.
(Late night)
Des: Make good decisions.
Abby: Sleep, pee, eat, sleep.

Sunday-
(Most of the Day)
Des: re-assimilate into the civilized work. Try to unlearn the Lord of the Flies like lessons. Enjoy the wonder that is the KFC Doubledown. Regret the Horrible grotesque that is the KFC Doubledown. Get stuck in traffic.
Abby: Finish off all edible food within reach of the couch. Wait for the return of her personal chef, butler, and assistant. Begin to waste away from hunger.
Babies: Claw at her insides, whisper disention directly to her brain. Begin to convince Abby it is Des' fault she is hungry and has not returned.
(Rest of the Day)
Des: Arrive home, cook, feed the dogs, feed the wife, shower, give a massage, solve world hunger(hint, it involves kelp based frozen foods), begin to realize how much a 26 year old body dislikes a weekend of camping, sleep.
Abby: Welcome home Des with a hungry scowl, scowl less after eating, feel neutral after husband de-stinks, smile after a back rub, sleep.
Babies: Somersaults, rib kicking, and clawing at the walls of the meat prison.

Potatoes. Again?

Potato Casserole.

I've made about 6 batches in the last week. It's pretty simple, add 5 ingredients, stir and bake. It tastes pretty good too. Like something a 6 yearold would be all about. Cheese, potatoes, sour cream and processed versions of each. Yet, it's the food du jour. On the upside, it's got MSG, which makes me gassy, so I don't tend to eat it; i.e. I don't get fat from her belly growing diet.

I guess things are really starting to stretch now, instead of just shifting around. As a result, when she thinks I'm not looking I catch her making weird faces. It looks liek she's trying to work out a belch after shotgunning a beer. Kind of a mix of meditation and quizzical displeasure. Eyes unfocused, mild sneer... it's classy.

Looking Good

Ok, I think I'm allowed to say it:

She officially looks pregnant.

Before, it could have been a long vacation, or bad gas, or freshman year, or an awkward breakup followed by pint upon pint of Ben and Jerry's. But now, I think people are allowed to comment on the belly. To be honest, we haven't been out in public together much recently; but she went and hung out with friends and they seemed astounded by the changes. I don't see the incremental change you do if you only see her occasionally, but there are benchmarks that I'm noticing.

-She's now a member of the boobie-doo club (tummy stick out further than her boobie-do0).
-Her gait is changing.
-Her 40 yard speed is down. We'll know she's really pregnant when she goes above 5.2 sec.
-We've had to cut back her power lifting. The dead lifts and power cleans are tougher with a baby bump in the way. She's still putting up mid 300's though.
-Her vestigial tail is coming in nicely, and eating is going to be easier once the second row of teeth break through.
-Daily pot sticker ration is up.
-Melodramatic sighs have been traded for appropriately-dramatic sighs.
-We've got the illicit drug use pretty much under control. Next we move on to the alcohol addiction.

Feed the Babies!

Abby's on a strict "Eat crap until you're fat" diet.

Seriously, 3500+ calories a day. I think this is going to be fun. I get to cook with real cream, real butter, and all the fixings. Sadly, I could stand to lose about 15 pounds. So, I guess I will be playing the role of "Feeder" and she will be the "Feedee." It may be more of a Gainer/Encourager relationship, I'm not sure. More info can be found at:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fat_fetishism
...weird

Last night, she looked up from her protein shake and trail mix, to smile, belch, groan, and demurely say "I'm really full."

Trying to fight back a smirk, I replied, "I know, well done. You're going to be the best eater ever. It takes training; and lots of eating."

Her face brightened as she recalled, "Plus, when I wake up to go pee, I'm supposed to eat before I go back to sleep!"

Takin it Easy

Vacation is nice. It's slower, calmer and there's less dogs.

I get to eat all sort of things that are bad for me, but it doesn't count on vacation. Bacon, Pancakes, ice cream, cocktails, real butter.

Plus, Abby has been eating pretty well. I think it's the fact that the way my family vacations is a non-stop assault of culinary gluttony.

"Are you hungry?"

"No. thank you, dinner was very filling."

"Are you sure, I can make a milkshake?"

"What? We haven't cleared the table yet... How can you think about eating already?"

"It's what vacation is."

As a result, normal people stuff their faces and roll back to the real world. Pregnant ladies just consume reasonable amounts of food.

One of my favorite things about this is that when I actually get to cook for abby I'm allowed to do it Paula Dean Style: 2 sticks of butter, 4 eggs and whole milk. "Because she needs the protein," Not because I like cooking really fatty yummy food...