My hips don't lie.

I don't know what my problem is.

I'm pregnant.

How is that I keep forgetting that when I go to do super important things like buy beer or kicking the ass of the lady in the make up aisle at Target for completely cock-blocking the mascara section. It is absolutely annoying, because the only make up I even wear/know how to apply is mascara and cherry flavored lip gloss. So, while I waited for-like-ever for her to make her selection, I noticed she had the most chin hair on a woman I have ever seen in my entire life. She seriously looked like a goat. And then it seemed silly she was taking so long and being so picky about mascara, when nobody with two working eyes would ever notice she was even wearing mascara because she completely looked like Col. Sanders.

Or like, after every fucking episode of Girls Next Door, I get this fabulous idea I want to do some racy half nude pictures, and my husband gets all huffy and grossed out about it because I am carrying his baby, which is funny, because despite my girth, he still thinks I am the fucking elastic woman in the sack, so apparently, I am only disgusting in print, but marginally agreeable to look at in bed.

Loser.

Oh, or when I am in Target, and I suddenly find myself in the middle of a life or death bathroom situation, and because I forgot I am in maternity pants, I literally almost crap myself as I fumble around for the fucking zippers and buttons that aren't fucking there.

I mean, maybe I am sidetracked by the fact that I am trying to get my sons to stop reaching into the tampon trash box like it's it's a God damn toy grab bag.

But, hello, I can't find my way out of a fucking pair of elastic pants!?

Then, there are times when I totally remember I am pregnant.

Like when I wake up feeling like someone spent the entire night drop kicking me in the crotch.

I know there is some perfectly magical scientific explanation for this, like how my hips are expanding to make way for a beautiful child of God, or some shit. But these days, I awake to a full bladder, and a waddle of shame to the bathroom feeling rode hard and put away wet.

I spend my days sitting on a frozen bag of peas...ok, not peas, because peas are disgusting, and I don't keep healthy frozen shit in my freezer, so what I am really sitting on is a roll of frozen Thin Mints.

Or, like yesterday, when I decided I wanted to lounge around in my husband's sweatpants all day, except they didn't even fit me because I am a huge puffy monster, and instead of coming downstairs to a hug and reassurance, I come down to the news that Elisabeth Hasselbeck is pregnant, again.

And, like all her other adorable pregnancies where she miraculously ends up "losing weight" which is, like, so weird because she totally "eats tons of garbage" like us normal women, me and my 30 pounds of pregnancy weight gain will completely hate her.

So, um yeah, me and my double chin are on Team McMommy, and out of solidarity, here is my photographic proof.

Women don't sweat after 17 hours of epidural-less childbirth, they fucking glisten.

And just like that, it all comes racing back to me.

Yes....I am pregnant, and the tattoos, body shots and mud wrestling will have to wait. In the mean time, I will just enjoy my time being lazy on the couch, and eat the yummy minty cookies from the bag between my legs.

P.S.Turns out, of all my amazing qualities, someone has decided I deserve be recognized for my ability to cuss. Which is awesome, and completely confirms what I have thought all along, that the time I spend helping the homeless and reading to old people is a fucking waste.

So, go vote for me, and make it all worth while.