I’d rather be raising a margarita to TGIB (Thank God It’s Baby!), but alas, I am still with child. And with sporadic contractions. And with pot roast-sized bump, as my mom noticed this morning when she kindly noted, “You know, you don’t really look pregnant from behind…” Then I turned around to thank her and she laughed at my side view, “Oh! Look at THAT! NOW there’s no mistaking you’re pregnant!” And it’s true. Even Stevie Wonder could tell I’m pregnant.
Oh dear. This is what happens when you spend an excessive amount of time with your parents: you start telling obvious “Stevie Wonder is blind! Ha, haaaaa!” jokes from 1982. You also find yourself on a first-name basis with The Weather Channel meteorologists.
So, yeah, we’re still playing The Waiting Game. Baby Girl is apparently taking her good ol’ time in Hair-and-Makeup, getting ready for her world debut. This is what happens when you birth a child in Los Angeles. Just watch — she’s going to come out SCREAMING because there is no red carpet awaiting her. Then come the demands for baby announcement airbrushing and dates with Zuma Rossdale… *SIGH*
Thanks to everyone who entered the Baby Betting Pool, which, to be fair, I guess I should close at the end of business today (6 p.m. PST). Folks are still welcome to venture a guess for fun after that time, however. Here are the bets so far:
August?! Ah man, you folks are bumming me out! If that’s the case, we’re definitely going to have quite the little diva on our hands. I don’t know anyone who needs THAT much time to get ready, except perhaps Mariah Carey or Ryan Seacrest.
Have a great weekend, everyone. If anything should happen on the Mini-Mariah front, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, I’ll just be hanging out with Mr. Candy, my parents and Betty. (Not only is Betty one hell of a weathercaster, but she also lost her baby weight in, like, NO time, according to my parents. Lucky bitch!)
Hugs, kisses and dishes of spicy labor-inducing Kung Pao chicken,