four girls, two bods.
I brought back the unitard this week to see if I could fit into it and voila! Like a glove! Sure, it's so stretched out you can see clear-through it, but fuck it, it's summertime! Everyone loves a good six pack and my abs are of STEEL. Seriously. Thanks to my BFF Braxton Hicks, my abs are rock hard. And everyone's like, "let me feel your abs! Wow! Where do you work out?"
And I'm like, "I have two trainers that literally kick my ass 24/7. It's INSANE, you guys."
Babies are almost two pounds (hothouse cucumbers!) and I get to go in for a series of doctor appointments this week. At my last check-up the babies measured one week ahead of schedule so I'm curious to see whether they've slowed their roll or if they're continuing to mature exponentially like fetal geniuses.
I'm 185 pounds this week and my back is officially ALSO pregnant as well as my nose, arms, hips, wrists, ankles, knees, toes, mouth, chin, chest, calves, thighs and finger nails. It has now been six weeks since I've seen my vagina but I am told it is still there. By my doctors. Hal hasn't seen it in six weeks either... and by six weeks, I mean six months. Poor Hal needs a drink. And an orgy.
Over the weekend, I convinced myself that I had plenty of wherewithal to go on a family dog walk/kids on bikes/stroll but after four (short!) blocks we had to turn around because I was literally crying. ON A FUCKING WALK! It's a combination of pelvic pressure + hip pain + feeling like someone is kicking my lower back with combat boots. But I wanted to go on a walk so bad! Just like I want to take the kids on outings. Just like I want to garden and shave my legs and buckle my sandals.
Such is life as a frail giant.
ED: I think my bitchiness stems from feeling completely helpless and dependent on everyone for everything. Hal and I got in a fight because he didn't want me shopping at Trader Joes by myself and I didn't want him shopping at Trader Joes by HIMSELF because he always ends up bringing home weird shit that nobody eats. In bulk. And then I get pissed and he's like, "I'm trying, Bec!" and I'm like, "You ASSHOLE!"
I don't say that, actually. That would be mean.
Yesterday I spent the day sitting on my ass in a blow-up baby pool that kept deflating I assume because it was cheap. I tried to convince the kids to join me for a swim but Archer told me he thought I "needed my space" which was so not true, what a liar.
So I sat in the baby pool alone and meditated. In a baby pool. A pool for babies. Because there was no room in the damn thing to do anything but sit quietly and watch bugs fall around me and die. Fable kindly poured an entire container of bubbles in my cesspool of dead bugs and leaves and just like that, an afternoon bubble bath. Such service here at Che GGC, come on over!
Fable's outfit = all her. She insisted on long sleeves and boots on a 98 degree day. Did I argue? No. Because I was wearing a transparent catsuit and had no place.
I go in for my SUPER FUN drink-the-glucose-cocktaul-without-puking-all-over-American Angler-magazine appointment this week. I actually have TWO doc appointments this week which means I will be well acquainted with Angler magazine which is ALWAYS in OBGYN doctor's offices. Because nothing says Downtown LA like fly-fishing? Who fucking fishes in Los Angeles? Fishing for compliments and hookers, yes, but really? Can we get some Cosmo up in here? An old US Weekly from 2003, perhaps? At this point I'm bringing the kids with my to my OB appointments just to entertain me for the two hours of waiting-room-weirdness, so I don't have to see another glossy of a dude in camo pull a hook out of a dead fish's mouth.
And also, because Archer and Fable are my best friends. (These babes-to-be have seriously big shoes to fill. No pressure, R&B.)
I love that Fable wanted to be with me in these pictures. I love her
Speaking of R&B, everyone in my family now thinks the babies' names are ACTUALLY Rhythm & Blues because, as they say, "we wouldn't put it past you." Thanks?
Name Segue time: I happen to love that the Beckhams went with "Seven" as a middle name. LOVE. I love it as much as I despise people's need to make fun of celebrities for their naming choices. Apple is adorable. Audio Science is maybe the coolest name ever, second to Pilot which is so totally badass. Names are as arbitrary as words and if you're going to name a child something that MEANS something, why not just name your child the MEANING. I mean...? And FYI, it isn't the kids that are making fun of their peers' names on the playground, it's the parents (us!) who are the shit-talkers. See: the entire Internet.
I'll never forget when Archer came home from his first day of school and said, "Mom! I met this boy at school with the strangest name!"
"Really? What was it?" I asked.
Moral of the story? It's all relative. Bobby is a perfectly lovely name. But so is Audio. And Seven. And Moxie Crimefighter.
Whoa. Now I'm all riled up! I am very tough and feisty with rage! Must meditate in baby pool again! Alone! BY CHOICE!
In the meantime, good news! The Thing 1 & Thing 2 hats I ordered a couple weeks ago came last week!
Hal and I are considering a Cat in the Hat Halloween theme. (Naturally, I would be the Cat and Hal would be "the mom" because cross-dressing is our strength as a couple.) In the meantime? The "thing" hats make quite the supportive brassiere. Very Fall 2067.