I have gained a pound for every month of relationship happiness over the past 18 months.
Apparently, I'm so happy my ass is busting my pants!
I discovered this yesterday during my annual visit to my OB/Gyn. The nurse kept nudging the scale weight farther and farther to the right until it rested on 243.
I knew those jeans were a little tighter.
So that means tomorrow I'm dragging my 243 pound ass out of bed, at 5.30 am, to walk. Every day.
And it means I can't order takeout for dinner when I'm too tired to cook after I come home from work.
And it means my portions are going to be the size of my fist.
In good news, my doctor didn't balk when I said I'd like to start thinking about more permanent birth control solutions. Essure, here I come? Let's hope so!
Here's a picture of a fat baby because that's what I feel like (and this is kind of what my baby pictures look like):