type, fingers, type

Because I can't be bothered with creativity today, I'm going to omit any sort of witty intro to this post and just admit that I had to steal my motivation from my sister-in-law's blog to muster enough gumption to try a post today.

Am I a Beautiful Babe today? Hardly.
I'm sure if I were Angelina Jolie in a $300 flowing summer dress and eighty dollars worth of glowing moisturizer on my cheeks and lips, I'd be tooting a different horn.

The reality of it is that I own three pairs of pants that fit me right now and they all include an ungodly amount of elastic around the waistband. Seriously, my five year old daughter looked at the adjustable elastic belt in my pants and said, "Those are just like mine. For growing."

Well played, young padawan. Well played.

My moisturizer, although tried and true, costs four-fifty a bottle. I apply whatever chapstick, lipbalm, gloss, or sticky stuff in a tube I can find by digging and scraping at the bottom of my purse while I'm driving the little girl to school and voila, I have the au naturale look every Calvin Klein model is sporting on the runway these days. (he still designs clothes, right?)

Don't bother wasting your breath on the "pregnancy glow" crap. I don't have it. I have hair that hasn't seen a drier in weeks and I can hear the cries of neglect from my mascara and eyeliner every time I pass by my makeup bag. If I'm glowing, it's the caffeine.

Which leads me to the second question...Am I a Healthy Her? Well. I walk to the mailbox when I forget to toss the mail key in my purse on the way out the door. I walk to the bench at the playground. And I bend down a hundred times a day to pick up the stuff I drop. Which is pretty much everything.

I drink one to two caffeine drinks a day, but I've cut down considerably and your judgements don't phase me. (Did you know a half-caf latte has less caffeine than a regular cup of coffee?) And I have switched from skim milk to 2% in my lattes. Along with caffeine, I've cut down on my alcohol intake. See, I do care. I only drink one beer a night or a glass of wine every other day instead of my usual two-margarita minimum. (Just kidding, people. I won't even be popping the cork on our vintage bottle of Dom for our anniversary next month.) I'm running on a natural high these days (and the lattes)...

So, am I the Queen of the World? Yes. I may be tipping the scales and exercising my right to be ugly in public, but I'm having a baby in a few short months. And although seventy-five percent of my current wardrobe is a spandex blend, my husband comes home from work every day and picks up the stuff I dropped and didn't have the energy to bend over and get. He's happy to stir the stuff in the pan, so I can take the umpteenth pee of the day without risking a culinary catastrophe and he can tell just by looking at me that I would feel so much better if he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the head at any given moment.

I'm pregnant. I'm not perfect. But I am, in the simplest words, a happy person. And I'll take that and hope for at least the same for the future. For now, I'll take the good days with the "eh" days and if I have to start looking thirty... so. be. it. It's the new twenty, right?