Prolly All the Time

Fatty, fat pants

Let me preface this by saying that being "fat" is a huge matter of perspective.  I do not want to start a discussion on America's perception of the perfect female figure and how fucked it is, nor on the dangers of body dysmorphic disorder, etc.  Neither of those are funny.  They are to be taken seriously, I am not.  This is about me...

I am fat... perhaps not by most people's standards.  But I am bigger than I have ever been in my life.  An unfortunate side-effect of the pregnancy. 

I do not consider myself to be v. preoccupied with my weight in general... I have never been really into exercise and as a matter of fact, I tend to think that talking about one's weight is stupid and self-indulgent.  I only bring it up to ask a simple question.

When your "fat pants*" become your "pants-pants", is it time to concede defeat?

It isn't even the size that bothers me most. It is that they are generally not flattering. At all.  M. pretends that they are, but he is lying because he loves me and does not particularly like to encourage jags of self-pity.

It apparently doesn't bother me too much since I haven't made any drastic changes to my lifestyle. So, at what point will my desire for fashionable pants exceed my distaste for healthy living...

Stay tuned... 

*fat pants, as in... "I am so bloated today that I had to dig out my fat pants..."

Names, nicknames, just call me Kotex.

When you pee on the stick and find out you are pregnant, almost the first thing you begin to think about are names (well, lets just assume that the two people involved intended to get pregnant). 

Now, some people underestimate the impact that a name can have on someone... and thus, do not undertake the task of naming a child with the right amount of seriousness, reverence, etc.  This is how you get kids named Fabrice (male), Eugenia (or Eugene for that matter), Uneeque (yes, I have seen it happen), Ovum, and the initials F.A.T.  I know from personal experience.  I have a first name that no one takes seriously and initials that have always been used to reference a certain popular feminine hygeine product...

[OB was my nickname in high school and college... T'PON is the new group favorite.  It is futile to resist...  you just have to give in.]

So when we picked out butterbean's name, we explored all possible shortened versions of the name, checked and re-checked the initials, even checked it in the banana song to ensure safety (anal much? you may be asking...  yeah.  prolly all the time). As a result, I felt confident that we had given him a name impervious to bad nicknames. 

Then the following conversation occured, more than once.  UGH...

So, what's the baby's name? 

J-----.

What about a middle name?

C------.

Will you call him J.C.?  You know, like Jesus?  Get it?

[puzzled expression] Um, no.  It hadn't even crossed my mind.

Really?  It isn't a coincidence?

Really.

What the fuck? I am led to believe one of two things from these conversations. 

Either, a number of people think that I am the kind of person who believes that their child is the second coming of Christ Almighty... which begs a much bigger examination of self than I am willing to undertake at this time. Or...

I need to leave Texas and get me some good ole liberal friends.  Too much Jesus on the brain down here.

Alas.

That was bad.  And then yesterday, this...
So, what's the baby's name? 

J-----.

What about a middle name?

C------.

Will you call him J.C.? Like J.C. Chasez from *n sync?

Holy Shit... NO.

Fuck. Sorry little man.

Introductions are in order

This, obviously, is my blog.  Welcome.

I have reached the first (oh what I am sure will be many) dilemmas of my blogging career.  Where to start?

I have to assume that 98% of the people who are reading this blog (at least initially) already know me.  Thus, a detailed description of who I am and what I do just seems boring.  Plus, it leaves me very little room for embellishment which is, let's be frank, the best part.

If you don't know me, where do I begin?  While I find the early years to be terribly fascinating, most agree that it wasn't until college that the shit got good.  That said, I have very few clear memories from college.  Most have been pieced together through the accounts of innocent bystanders and v.guilty accomplices.  It will take a great deal of work to recover those details.

However, I aim to please so I am going to just dive right in -- there is my husband (M.) and our families, the fur babies (C., A., N.), my baby boy (butterbean), fat pants, MoRons, work and all of the daily absurdities of life. I will mix in little tidbits of myself (LTOM) as we go along, so saddle up and lets see where this pony takes us.  If there is something that you are dying to know, ask away.  If I don't want to answer honestly... well, I will just make something up.

G*& Damn, this is a lot of pressure.

Oh, and you may be wondering, how often will I curse...

Well, prolly all the time.