Again with the obscure fruit references.  We’re not in biblical times.  Raise your hand if you bought a fig recently.

If you raised your hand, I assume you’ll have a successful career working for, confusing pregnant women with little known fruit comparisons for ages to come.

I reminded myself this week that the vast majority of you are not pregnant and are probably ready for a post without mention of a particular fetus in a particular uterus.  And I promise that blog entry will come.  But not today, folks.  Because being a newly pregnant woman, I want to talk about gas and bloat and baby names with you.  And your family.  And the teenage boy who is checking me out at the grocery store.

Nobody is safe from bloat talk.

Here’s the complimentary helping of fish-belly photos, complete with another appearance from the guest of honor him or herself.

Listen.  I look tired, ok?  I have dark circles under my peepers and I need my roots re-done.  I also look like I don’t have feet.  I’m not sure which to be more alarmed about, but I have a hair appointment on Thursday so I suppose that takes the cake.  The feet issue will have to wait, apparently.

Someone else wants to say ‘hi’:

 We are out of the tail period.  Which means our baby will, fingers crossed, look much less like  one of those dinosaurs from Jurassic Park and more like a real-life human baby.  Besides the really pointy feet.  I just got lazy in Microsoft Paint, is all.

Cravings have moved on from popsicles and lemonade and have now entered chocolate milk and baked goods territory.  No joke, I woke up this morning and baked 48 chocolate chip cookies.  I have also pre-packaged Ziplock containers of aforementioned cookies for Tony to give to his guy friends.  What. Is. Wrong. With. Me?

All this before breakfast.

Productive, yes.  Health conscious, maybe-not-so-much.

Moving on to how I’ve been feeling.

Well, let’s see.  If I remember correctly, the first trimester is supposed to be the worst, but as I’m fast approaching the 2nd trimester, I’m starting to get terrible acid reflex.  Which could be the reason behind my newfound love of dairy products, as it helps keep it at bay.  I also get up approximately 567 times throughout the night to pee.

Oh, and the couch has become my new bed.  And if Tony tries to get me to go to our real bed at 2 in the morning, after I’ve fallen asleep for the 8th time during the same damn Law and Order rerun on Netflix, I will open one eye, curse him with words that should never come out of a lady’s mouth and then take a swing.  He has compared waking me to waking a sleeping bear.  Which is why I’m often still asleep on the couch at 4 in the morning with all the lights on and Tony in bed, having finally wised up on just letting me be.  “That woman be cray!”

Next up – a real live blog post about real life stuff that is probably just as boring as talking about babies.  I am so good to you guys.  Seriously.