Pudgy

A couple of weeks ago Morgan cornered me while at the stove and asked if I was going to have another baby. I told her we were planning on it at some point and asked her why she was asking. Her response: “Well, I didn’t know if I should tell you, but I noticed you’re getting a little bit. . .” (See her patting her tummy with a sheepish expression) “Well, you’re getting a little bit . . . PUDGY. I didn’t know if I should tell you!” Well, Morgan, you probably shouldn’t have!

However, if an eight year old can tell a person is pregnant at nine weeks then I guess that person should know so she can go public earlier than usual – lest everyone wonder why she is so getting so “pudgy.” So for the next ten weeks (until she actually looks pregnant, not just fat) give a pudgy person a break, it’s not just a case of Midwest depression (although there may be some of that going on too) or a newfound love affair with snacking while watching nighttime television (also possibly a byproduct of the aforementioned Midwest depression) that’s causing it. There is a baby in there behind that Jell-O like mass of flesh. I heard its heartbeat today. So, let’s just agree to disregard the fact that the said child is the size of a small Oregon Strawberry.

While we’re on the subject of progeny – wish Daniel luck! Here’s his last chance for a retraction and apology from the editor of the annual Christmas newsletter for previous statements/slander about his Y-Chromosome deficiency. We’ll look forward to finding out in early November!