Ass Face

It all started because I just HAD to try on my "fat jeans"

Yanno...the jeans that only fit you at your fattest. The jeans you try to avoid at all costs. The jeans you happily store in the closet when you've been eating right and exercising, swearing that you would sooner set yourself on fire than let your ass get big enough to fill up those parachute-sized back pockets. The jeans you pull out every year around January 5th, full of regret and pecan pie, and glare at them with the burning anger of a thousand firey suns because you hate them so much (but really it's just displaced ass-anger), but then you put them on, and you're all "wow, I can finally breathe again," and you make truce with your jeans that you will wear them for ONE MONTH ONLY, and then back in the closet they go when you've worked off that 3 gallons of egg-nog.

Of course, I didn't expect to button them or anything. I might be crazy, but I'm not THAT crazy. But I was digging around for something to wear (because all my second-trimester clothes are getting snug), and I thought to myself, "self, these jeans might actually fit with a Bella band. And that would be Awesome-sauce. Let's do it."

And perhaps they would have fit with a Bella band.
But we'll never know, because I couldn't get them over my tank-sized derriere.

Sad face.

I'm sure you're not nearly as surprised as I am. Every woman gains weight when they're pregnant. Did I think I'd be the exception?
Of course I did.
Because I'm a unique snowflake, and nobody else is like me (right, mom?).
So while I was prepared for the ginormous belly (well, as much as anyone can be prepared to grow a beach ball-sized tumor under their boobs), I wasn't prepared for the matching ass and set of thighs.
Oh, and the jowls.
That part is super attractive.

So I came running out of the bedroom, wailing and holding my fat jeans up to the gods like a woman in mourning.
And then my dear, dear husband, who would do ANYTHING to make me feel better, reminded me that if I gained all my weight in my belly and didn't fill out (he actually used the words "fill out" - he should have been a politician) in the back, I'd probably tip over.
In response, I grabbed my fleshy, swollen cheeks and thrust my face in his.
"What about these?!?" I demanded. "Do JOWLS keep me from tipping over? What good are THEY doing?!?!"
So he thought for a second and replied, "they help your face match your ass"

...

Once he realized what he said, his smile disappeared and a look of fear drew across his face.
I think he actually cringed.
But I had to laugh, because my loving husband just pretty much told me my face looked like my ass.

Okay, so maybe he wouldn't be such a good politician after all.

But the jeans...yeah. They don't fit.
Not. At. All.

So I'll be heading out to a proper maternity store to purchase a moo-moo to cover my planet-sized butt.

...and possibly a gag for my husband. For the next time he wants to discuss the semantics of body weight distribution.
Or Ass Face.