Dear Maven,
You're a young woman in your 20's and I'm sure your life is full of excitement. What do you do for fun?
Well, aren't I glad you asked! (Or that I fabricated a question to ask myself!)
Being a 29-year-old party girl takes work. First, I always have to look my best. For example, today I'm wearing maternity jeans that look like they're the only pair I've worn for the last seven months, coupled with a t-shirt I didn't realize was badly stained with bacon grease until I was already out in public this evening. Of course, my unwashed hair is put up in a perfect ponytail and my makeup is so natural that you'd think I wasn't wearing any. All the models are going for that nude look now, you know. They got that from me. Laziness starts trends - for an example, see all the teenage girls walking around in pyjama bottoms.
Second, I sit around the house all day. I call it 'gathering energy'. How can I possibly party it up at night if I'm running around with my children for 12 hours first? That just won't do. So instead, I have them bring everything to me on the couch: games, puzzles, food they want opened. I'd like to say it's completely pregnancy-related, but in reality I'm just a shoddy mother.
Once my brood is fed and the gremlins are in bed, I develop a massive pregnancy craving for a burger and fries. This is where the party starts, ya'll. I instant message The Sister and she offers to join me on my fast-food gathering expedition. She's thoughtful like that. I pick her up in my pimpin' ride (see: van) and we head down to the local Wendy's.
The nice thing about being pregnant is the ability to change one's mind, guilt-free. Like when I was given the bag with my $5.92 worth of bacon cheeseburger and fries. Suddenly, I had no desire to eat it. Thus, I threw it at The Sister who munched down some of the fries and talked to me about her upcoming 80's and 90's themed birthday bash (I gave her some suggestions, being as wise (see: old) as I am). I dropped her off at home and proceeded toward my house.
Now, of course, I can't go home. It's only 10:15pm at this point. It's prime Tuesday night party time. So instead, I do what every hip 29-year-old does: I went to the Tim Hortons two blocks from my house and sat with my mother and her friend for two hours.
I got home shortly after midnight, having enjoyed a few Timbits and two cups of decaf. I threw my fast food fiesta in the fridge as an offering to Geekster in the morning. Nothing like day-old fast food for lunch. How, er, yummy (see: pepperoni cheeseballs).
In short, the hustle and bustle of my life is comparable only to that of a socialite. It's very hard to be me. You should be amazed I even have the time to blog.
Tomorrow will be another fun-filled day of non-existant activities. I believe it would be a perfect day to work on my ass groove in the new couch. Gotta get that molding just right.
Nine weeks left. Nine weeks left. Nine weeks left... But I'm not going stir crazy or anything.
***
PS: A huge shout-out to Trent, who writes Pink is the New Blog (the only celebrity site I check, ever, and only in secret because I'm not possibly shallow enough to care about celebrities, and only because my sister got me hooked so it's all her fault). At the end of today's entry, after talking about his babysitting adventure, he posted the following:
I have to give it up to all the stay at home moms who take care of their little kiddies each and every day ... and oftentimes, they're taking care of more than one little set of legs at a time. Props to you, moms ... I have a new respect for your work -- that's for sure.Thank you!! It's awesome when people get it, you know? Staying home is hard work! Trent is a blogging god, so he's way too cool to read my garbage. However, his site is great and I always get a laugh. Do check it out, even if you're not a celebrity whore like my sister.