Whiny Weenie

As I approach with sheer terror my next dr. appointment, I have been putting fourth all efforts to keep the added poundage to a minimum- if only to avoid any further awkward/infuriating conversations. As a result I've been doing things like "exercising" and "having no joy in my life at all" "not eating sweets" which requires more than a little self control on my part, as well as averting my gaze from those darned McDonalds billboards slathered with delightful pictures of chocolate dipped vanilla soft served cones.

for the love of all that is good, somebody go out and eat one of these for me

This is most likely all in vain and will probably leave me utterly dejected and depressed after my upcoming visit. The plus side of that though is that I will most certainly eat my fattened sorrows away with the above treat.

As a part of my new desperate-attempt-to-not-gain-weight-routine we've been heading out for morning walks as many days of the week as we can and for as long as we can-- since it's already into the 90s by 9 a.m. and that is just yucky. We follow the walk with some hellish torture Jillian Michaels on some of the mornings.

This morning found me disciplined enough to get us the heck out the door, but I am not going to lie, I wanted to hitch a ride back to our house almost every step of the way. Here are some numbers to give you a glimpse into the fun:

• Number of pointless sprinklers doing nothing for people's yards but hitting the innocent pregnant mother with 2 toddlers just as she passes by-- 10 (or more)
• Number of dead birds run over-- 1
• Number of minutes I HAD TO PEE SO BADLY-- 38
• Number of times I needed push down as hard as possible on the handle of the double stroller to get it to go over the 1 inch bump in the side walk-- 38 appox
• Number of braxton hicks I had to lean on the stroller for support for and breath through-- 38 approx
• Number of decades of the rosary prayed out of desperation that I might not flip out on an whining toddler-- 2.5
• Number of drops I actually had in my bladder after returning home and sprinting to the bathroom to expel-- 10 
• Number of minutes I actually attempted to do any strength with Jillian-- 0
• Number of pounds probably gained from trying not to gain weight with this undoubtedly pointless routine-- who the hell knows, probably 3

I'm not complaining or anything. Wait, yes I am. I'm just a little bitter about the sprinklers.

And because everybody loves a super grainy picture of an increasingly pregnant woman:

more legit 25 wk.pic including head And reeeaaalllly big earrings.

I promise I will figure out my picture thing soon, this is getting to be ridiculous.

Now go read something that is actually entertaining.