Seriously, I can feel my thighs flattening out further and further with every spoonful. I think I'm just going to throw it in the dumpster. Those damn tubs of raw cookie dough are the devil. There is no reason why I should be eating that delicious shit. Alessandra Ambrosio doesn't look like she eats that shit, and she could stand to gain a few pounds.Collins and I are never going to be able to share her clothes if I eat that crap. Okay I just threw it in the dumpster.
I don't feel like I have that many vices, aside from swearing, watching reality television, makeover shows, the occasional bottle of wine, and the hidden pack of cigarettes in the console of my Jeep for really horrible days, but ever since I got pregnant with Collins, I have an insatiable sweet tooth. My early pregnancy cravings were lemons and fruit roll ups. I hoped that those cravings would go away. Uhhh nope.
Since I mentioned cigarettes for really terrible horrible no good very bad days, I should probably mention Friday. The day that will live in infamy as the day I plowed over Clayton's Honda lawn mower. Not once. Not twice. Three times. I don't even want to get into it, but suffice it to say that the wheel of the mower was perpendicular to where it was supposed to be.
When I'm in a panic, I have this superhuman strength that somehow allows me to safely move a 200 pound hutch from the dining room down the stairs into the garage; likewise, it allowed me to lift the lawnmower (which Clayton initially needed my help with a few months ago) and put it into the back end of my Jeep. When I explained to Bob at Home Depot that I needed this fixed before my husband got home from work, he goes, "Who got this in the back of your Jeep?" When I told him I did, by myself, without help, he looked at me like I had two heads. Look, Bob, you sweet, portly sweaty old man, I carry around a 15 pound baby all day every day. I carry 3 heavy loads of laundry up and down the stairs every day. I get my squats in lifting Collins off her playmat and scrubbing the dog's piss marks on the carpet. I'm no weenie. I'm no pampered princess. I don't lay in a hammock all day with handsome Latin American men fanning me with palm leaves and feeding my grapes.
Anyways, he fixed it! It took awhile, but he only charged me for a new wheel, which was $10. Clayton wasn't thrilled when I told him, but he wasn't super upset either. He was just shocked that I lifted it. That's all he's talked about for the last few days, too. "Babe, I just don't believe you. You had to have had a neighbor help you." Whatever dude. Keep underestimating me, you'll see.
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