Today Charlie and I ventured out so I could buy some jeans. I loaded a few pairs on top of him in the stroller and went into the dressing room. I wriggled into the first pair, zipped them up (feat of incredible strength), turned around to see how they looked in the mirror, and that's when I saw it. I am officially that girl who leaves the house with a giant spitup stain on her shirt. It added a nice symmetry to the stain left by my constantly leaking right boob.
Anyway, I found some jeans that go on and zip, but it's not the best I have ever looked in a pair of pants. Jeans are a cruel reality check for someone like me who has spent the last 2.5 weeks admiring myself in the mirror thinking "DANG that belly went away FAST I wouldn't be surprised if I actually wear a size SMALLER now." It's easy to think that way when you are not pregnant but continuing to wear maternity pants. Besides, it's not the belly that's the problem, it's my legs and butt and other body parts that have absolutely nothing to do with nurturing a fetus and that only got huge because I couldn't keep my hands off the cookies.
Anyway, I have to go because the baby is awake. Ryan-the-best-husband-there-has-ever-been is on his way home and is bringing me Caffiene to stave off my withdrawl headache. My sister and brother-in-law and parents are on their way here too. I also have to make brownies to cover up the breastmilk/poo/sweaty dog/mystery-garage-smell smell we have going on up in here.