subs and waving where no one has waved before

First of all?  I was completely unaware that Sunday was *THAT* Sunday, you know, the one where the pigskin worship occurs?   The Youth Group at church had their annual Super Bowl Sunday Sub Sale (points for the mad alliteration, yo), and even when filling out the form last week, I didn't make the connection.  And then, when the teen boy stood up to announce the subs were ready and good and there were extras to be bought, and that, for the record, the Cardinals were going to win the big game, I wasn't even all Big game?  Huh-Whaaa?  What is this child speaking of?  I was all, Mmmmmm, SUBS!!!!!

Excuse me while I head back to the rock under which I live.

What?  I LIKE IT THERE.

We came home from church, heavy laden with yummy subby goodness, and sat down to eat, but the thing is, I am so tired all the way inside my bones, it wore me out to put the mayo on my sub.  Actually, it was the Miracle Whip Replacement from Aldi, because I was too tired to get up to get the mayo and mustard out of the fridge.  But the point is, it was all I could do to slap a little of that stuff on the bread, and then I went above and beyond my capabilities to cut the sub in half and pick it up and take a bite and I had to go take a nap.  

Really.

A little later, The Mister left me alone with the rambunctious faction that is our boy shorties, and went to load in the show.  Sometime later than that, I dragged myself up to put them down for a nap.  Then there was some sort of a time warp, and then I made soup and we had dinner.

And then Sweets, the currently unnamed shortest person of them all, decided he was bored and needed to cause a ruckus.  So he did a handstand and tried to cram his wee pattys through my cervix.  I am not kidding, I think I could have shaken his hand if I  a)  tried; or b) was interested in touching myveryown cervix.  Seriously Sweets?  Waving at me from my own vagina is NOT CUTE.  Nor is it in any way, shape, or form, an appropriate method of getting your mother's attention.  I would never wave at my mother in such a fashion.

He's since decided not to climb out hands first (thanks for that, little fella!).  But the rest of my bits are still a little upset from the, umm, disruption he was attempting earlier, so it's been a fun couple of hours of wickedevilpainful contractions every five minutes.  RAWK!!!!  I know!!!

I remarked to The Mister that I was checking myself out in the mirror today, and from the front I hardly look pregnant at all, and that from the back, I look only slightly more bootylicious than I used to be.  But I walked past the television today, and I looked like I was wearing a beach ball under my sweatshirt.  It was then that he laughed at me and told me I looked good (he's really no fool, that one), and informed me that the television had a roundish screen which would make me seem way rounder.  Awesome.  I'm faux round and stupid.

I am sort of feeling like I should warn you that I might just end up bitching about being pregnant for the next nine to eleven weeks. Unless, you know, Sweets decides to pull some more of those vajayjay waving shenanigans and arrives much sooner, thereby ending everyone's misery.