At this point in the game? I try not to leave the house. Why? Because I spend the majority of my days wearing, as we all know, my husband's mesh athletic shorts and sports bras. I've given up on his Fruit of the Loom T-shirts because they are way too constricting for this belly and when I do wear them? They're usually hiked up beneath my bubbies anyway. Classy, I know.
I also try not to leave the house because I'm a bit over all of the sad, pathetic pity looks that my current state of being garners from random pedestrians, shoppers, cashiers, etc. I even had one elderly gentleman approach me in the market and ask, "Ma'am? Do I need to follow you around the store with this here hand basket? I'm not very good at baby-catching, but you look like you're about ready." Really.
At this point in the game? I try to avoid these awkward social scenarios at all costs.
Unfortunately, I also try to avoid any social situations that do not involve a comfortable couch in which I can put my feet up. Therefore, this past weekend, I decided I just couldn't make it to church. Which, after finally falling in love with a church in our new hometown, really upset me because I LOVE winding down my Sundays with this church's particular 6pm Mass.
Ok, now for the point of this story. Whew, pregnancy does make you long-winded, doesn't it? My apologies.
Hubs heads to church without me on Sunday evening. I remind him to pick up some tomatoes on his way home for fresh tomato, basil and mozzarella.
Obligingly, he strolls through the door and I can hear the rustle of plastic grocery bags. Upon reaching the kitchen he asks, "You're not going to believe what I found?"
And it's true. Chances are I'm not going to believe it.
He proceeds to tell me about this ridiculous sale he noticed that the grocer was having on Turkey Hill ice cream. Hubs does not eat ice ream. I, however, considering it one of the most important food groups in itself.
The sale? Five one-and-a-half-quart servings for $2 each.
Here is where I zone out and begin thinking to myself, "If this boy tells me this entire story and does not begin pulling multiple quarts of ice cream out of that bag, I'm going to lose my shit. He wouldn't do that to me, right? He wouldn't tell me this whole story and only come home with one dinky serving of ice cream? Right? If he did, this would go down in the books as one of the meanest tricks ever played on a pregnant lady..."
And just as I'm about to punch hypothetical Hubs for potentially not bringing home multiple servings of ice cream, I'm snapped back to reality by the sound of his voice...
"I got Rocky Road, Mint Chocolate Chip, some Chocolate Cookie nonsense, Coffee and a Neapolitan Frozen yogurt for me."
My face lit up like a 5 year old's on Christmas Eve. I got so excited, I literally sat up and contemplated jumping off the couch to hug my wonderful, darling, thoughtful husband. And let me tell you, I do NOT jump at 38 and a half weeks pregnant.
You would have thought he brought me home diamonds.