You know things are starting to go downhill when I have several things in common with an overweight, food-obsessed, geriatric bulldog.
I had an easy pregnancy. I should feel grateful that things were a breeze up until the last 2-3 weeks or so, but I’m tired and cranky so suck it.
I am just entering my 9th and final month of pregnancy and I’m finding things are a lot different than just a few weeks ago. All of these changes have given Mack and I a lot more in common that just our expanding waistlines. And yes, this post is chock full of fat jokes directed at Mack. I just can’t help myself. Mack’s all about that bass, no treble.
1.) Thirsty Thursday
I’ve never been so thirsty in my entire life. I drink at LEAST 80 ounces of water or juice or whatever a day, and still thirst for more. I slam a glass of water first thing in the morning and it’s the last thing I do before drifting off at night. Water, water, water. Pretty sure my Brita pitcher thinks I am a slavedriver.
I drink so much water that it’s a neck-and-neck race with Mack as who drinks more. Mack has always been a thirsty bulldog. He easily downs one 2-liter bottle of water a day and them some. I blame it on the constant loss of moisture through his mouth. Always drooling, most likely because he’s always thinking about food, wondering if that little spot on the floor over there is food, wondering if whatever I have in my hand is food, wondering how much longer it will be until he gets his next meal.
We’re both just as sloppy as the other when we drink, too. Mack slobbers all over the kitchen floor and I slobber all over my shirt and bra.
2.) Pissing contest
#1 leads into #2. Whatever goes in, must come out. It’s a double-edged sword. Every time I waddle to the bathroom you can guarantee Mack is waddling to the back door for the same reason. Except I’m more discreet about my bathroom visits. Mack loudly bangs on the glass door with his paw and barks loud enough for the whole house (plus our neighbors) to hear. He’s almost deaf, so you could imagine. He gets pretty belligerent.
3.) We both have Asses of Destruction
I’m carrying a soccer ball under my shirt so I can’t manuever as easily as I once could. Carrying a laundry basket downstairs is the most risky thing I do all day, especially when Peterbilt races past me to beat me downstairs.
I must overcompensate when allowing clearance for my stomach because now my ass is knocking over everything in sight. The list is not limited to: other laundry baskets, that tall vase sitting in our entry way, file folders sitting on a desk and baby gates propped up against doorways.
Mack’s ass is no stranger to breakage. He’s especially dangerous when trying to go in reverse. He’s never mastered the art of backing up. Every time he walks down the narrow passage way between my side of the bed and the wall, he has to walk in reverse to get out because he’s too thick of a bulldog to do a U-turn in that tight of a space. Each time it’s the same: his ass takes out any plugs in the power outlet and almost knocks over the floor lamp. Then he sits there with a look like, “What? I’m me, baby.”
4.) We both snore
One morning 3 weeks ago, my husband crankily notified me about that he didn’t get a wink of sleep because I snored all night long. I’ve never been a snorer so this came as surprise to me. Especially because I had no idea that I’d been doing and it especially because in order to snore, it must have meant that I was asleep, a state that I feel I never get to nowadays. “I was sleeping??? What time was that?”. I wouldn’t have believed my husband but I noticed I snort when I laugh now as well. The pregnancy weight gain and fluid retention have turned me into a pig.
Mack knows all about weight gain. He knows all about snoring, too. Mack isn’t allowed to sleep in our room because he snores so loud. I can only imagine what torture Mack and I would bring to Hubs if we all slept in the same room. A symphony of nasally snores, accented with Mack’s paint-peeling farts every so often. Who needs water boarding???
5.) We both can’t roll over
Hubs and I have always gotten a good laugh when Mack can’t roll over to get up off the floor. Poor Fatty Mack rolls around on the area rug to give himself a good back scratch. Everything’s tits until he realizes he’s not 4 years old anymore and has to get up somehow. Mack implements a rocking motion to propel his overweight and arthritic body upright, usually loudly farting in the process. It’s hilarious. Well, it was hilarious anyways until it happened to me.
That giant, heavy soccer ball I’ve been telling you about makes it difficult to turn and get out of bed and I’ve to steal Mack’s patented moves. I look quite ridiculous, much to my Husband’s immense amusement. Two peas in a pod we are: Hubs laughing at me so hard, trying not to piss himself while I’m rolling around like Mack, trying not to piss myself.
Meanwhile, Mack is at the back door, again, wondering what those two asshole humans are laughing about. Maybe it’s food. ******drool********