Tiger in the Tank!

It's true.

I am with child.
I have a tiger in my tank.
I'm knocked up.
I am harboring a fugitive.
I am developing a crotch parasite.
I have a bun in the oven.
I've been screwed.

Tommy and I found out on August 9th that not only do pregnancy tests NOT take 5 minutes to give a postive result, but that I am also pregnant.

I am addicted to pregnancy tests have been taking at least one a month for forever, much to Tommy's chagrin ("they're expensive!"). I can't help it. But on this particularly joyous day, the test did not stop at one pink line...but immediately (and I mean IMMEDIATELY) registered 2 pink lines. If I hadn't already peed in the toilet, I would have just peed my pants.

I called Tommy, he came home (where I presented him with two pee filled sticks...he was thrilled) and we went to dinner to celebrate and gossip about our impending bundle of joy...AHH!

The signs that I should have seen:

The first sign that indicated I might be pregnant is when ShopItToMe had a 1/2 off sale on skinny jeans and the only size they had in stock was mine. It was FATE! Of course I purchased them and took them to get them altered. Only fate would have you alter your first pair of skinny jeans on the day you find out you're pregnant. So now, of course, I can't return them. So, I've pretty much been wearing skinny jeans every single day and plan to squeeze myself into them until I can no longer suck in my gut anymore.

The second sign was that Kroger had Black Box wine on sale the previous weekend. Tommy and I, being the classy folk that we are, purchased 6 (yes, 6) boxes (yes, boxes) of wine (yes, that's 6 BOXES of wine), because well, they were on sale and if you buy 6 you get an additional 10% off.

The third sign was that I joined a 3rd gym the week prior to finding out I was "with child". Luckily, I joined this gym for it's pool and since I plan on swimming up until the day I give birth, this wasn't a terrible move...but lately I've been to disgustingly sick to even think about swimming. So I am a member of 3 gyms...and I haven't been to a single one of these gyms in the last 12 weeks.

And the fourth and final sign was that I accidentally purchased a pair of childrens shoes. I think this is the universe telling me that my child will be punk/grunge. This does not bode well for me.

Alas, despite all these signs, I was still surprised when that second pink line appeared on the stick. Nobody gets lucky enough to find 1/2 off skinny jeans or sales on wine all in the same week...unless they won't be able to use them. Damn you Universe!!

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Now for some rules:

Do not touch my belly. Unless I like you. But even then, it's best not to touch the belly. I will remove your arms with my teeth.

Do not use the words "preggo" or "preggy" or "hubby". Unless you are 5. If you are older than 5, it is time to learn to speak properly. Update: This also includes "preggers" and any other variations of fake words.

Do not tell me your labor horror stories. Not sure who you think you are helping here.
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In other news: When training for Ironman, I compared the training to pregnancy and the race to labor. The rules for me racing Ironman were similar to the rules listed above. No touching the belly, no "preggo" or "hubby", and no racing horror stories. So, so far, I'm right on the mark!!

But really, so far, it's been pretty similar. I'm on information overload, the result is still too far away to really grasp, I feel like total horse sh1t and I am exhausted. This is all pretty much like Ironman!

Speaking of Ironman, I doubt I will be racing IMTX in May. While I do planning on keeping up my volume (as much as possible), I have no intent of keeping it up to the level that would be required to complete an Ironman. In addition to that, after pushing a baby out of my vagina in April, I seriously doubt that sitting on a very small bike seat for 6+ hours in May will sound appealling. Soooo, that's in the toilet. I plan on appealling to the WTC to see if I can defer until 2012, but even then, I'm not sure I will be ready to race with an infant either. We will see!! Either way, Cletus the Fetus and I will be there on race day to cheer on Daddy Blain and all our friends!

War of the Roses.

Here in H-town, there is a morning radio show on 104.1 with hosts Roula and Ryan. I do not normally listen to 104.1 because the music is very teeny bopper and terrible. It's something Janelle would like. :) A little too much Justin Beiber for my tastes. But on Thursdays, magical, magical Thursdays, they do the War of the Roses.

War of the Roses is a segment where a woman (usually a woman, but it can be a man) calls in and fears her man is cheating on her. Roula then pretends to be a florist and calls the man to offer him a dozen long stem roses. When the man ultimately gives them to a woman other than his beloved, they get to air all their dirty laundry on the radio. And it is excellent.

Today, a man called in, concerned that his newly thin and attractive wife had spent the majority of the holiday weekend getting wasted with her girlfriends and was therefore too hungover to spend time with him and their 3 children. Roula called the wife, offered her a weekend getaway with a couples massage and asked the names that needed to be on a reservation. The wife asked if she could think about who she would want to bring. Poor husband. (I know I shouldn't get joy out of other's people misery, but normal people don't call radio shows to air their dirty laundry, so I'm over it) Obviously the husband was upset.

They began discussing why she didn't want to go out with him and it ultimately came down to the fact that he wears jean shorts.

She doesn't love him anymore because he wears jean shorts.

And has Doc Martens. (Which btw, I think are coming back in style. If you wait long enough...)

I immediately called Tommy and let him know that a call from Roula is in his future if he continues to sport the jorts. He was very unconcerned.

The Universe.

The universe is against me.

Today, I overslept because I accidentally set my alarm for 4:30PM instead of AM. I awoke at 6:15AM, fully refreshed for the day ahead. And missed my workout.

I took it in stride - obviously my body wanted more sleep. Darn!

I packed my gym bag with two options for the afternoon - I could either bike at a spin class or hit the pool.

I arrived at work only to realize that I forgot tennis shoes (I blame Tommy for cleaning the house and hiding my shoes in the garage, "where they belong". No good deed goes unpunished!). Sooo, cycling was out. Guess I'm going to the pool!

And then it rained all day. Which means the pool is closed. [shaking fist at Tropical Storm Hermoine]

3 attempts to work out today and all 3 were shot down. The universe obviously wants me to sit on the couch, eat a giant vat of ice cream, and call it day.

Done and done.