The theme song for weeks 25 and 26 of this pregnancy have been Lady Gaga's Poker Face, which I oh-so-super-cleverly renamed and reworked as Pizza Face:
Can't clear my, can't clear my,
No I can't clear up my pizza face.
(I have zits like no one's business.)
I am a regular goddamned Weird Al, right? I mean, I could be, once I figure out more lyrics than just those three lines. I sort-of came up with a verse about burritos and Indian food where I was able to swap "fart" for "heart" but then I stopped. Because of the DIGNITY. WHICH I TOTALLY STILL HAVE.
I also do totally have gas. And a bladder that wakes me up at least two times a night. And a slutbitch of a sciatic nerve.
After a breakneck buying spree attack of the baby shopping, I'm feeling much more prepared than I was even just a week ago. Realizing that you somehow own 14 designer swaddling blankets will do the trick, apparently. As does discovering an entire forgotten stash of baby gifts you bought for friends' newborns but never managed to wrap up and send, and since said newborns are now toddlers, said gifts are ALL YOURS NOW YAY.
(Thus: the 14 designer swaddling blankets. Which means I am now all but guaranteed to give birth to a baby who hates, hates, hates being swaddled. Either way, I'm totes prepared!)
Oh, everything is still just piled up on the floor. But dammit, those are some well-stocked piles. I can rest easy with those piles. I could rest easy ON those piles, what with all the blankets and fluffy diapers in there.
Lastly, the obligatory this:
Can't see my, can't see my,
No you can't see my pizza face.
(I will crop and you will like it.)