Tomorrow is the day of my second shower, and apparently the weather forecast looks like something predicted by Nostradamus: On the 10th of January in the year of 2009, snow will bury everyone in Northeast Ohio and surely all will perish except those with mullets. (So maybe it won't be so tragic?)
Dear everyone alive: Yes, I heard the weather forecast for the day of my shower. Yes, I am fully aware that it sounds a bit like Armageddon. Thank you for telling me, because I am so completely not stressed out about it, like, at all.
I always get pissed off about the weather forecast. Mostly because the meteorologist on the news channel we watch is just downright frightening looking. Someone you could shrink up and place in your garden as one of those gnomes to scare bunnies away so they don't eat your plants. Or something.
In addition to offending my delicate little eyes, the weather forecast is always wrong when I want it to be right. Like when I really don't want to go somewhere and 10 inches of snow would just be so fab, and I get really excited because the forecast says 10-20 inches of snow? We always end up getting flurries.
Woe. Snow. Blah blah blah. Someone might get stuck with an awful lot of cupcakes, and it won't be me because I have the beetus.
I went to breastfeeding class last night, and saw more huge knockers than I ever wanted to see in my life. Boobs make me really uncomfortable. Probably because I have tiny ones. Every time the guys were at the Bing on the Sopranos, I had to look away because DEAR GOD, THERE ARE BOOBS! BIGGUNS! (Please note that all the cussing, killing, adultery, and violence didn't bother me a bit.)
Luckily, the instructor was not one of those super earthy, tree humping, granola chowing breast milk pushers (although, I did not examine her thighs for bark burn). She went over the benefits, talked about how to cure cracked and sore nipples, and showed a few videos about latching on and positioning. It was informative. I took notes like a gigantic nerd.
The video was a little off-putting. There were these women at the hospital, bearing it ALL for a bunch of people in the room. And yes, yes, I know, I know - I will probably not even notice my public nudity because I will just be ready for the baby and la la la I don't want to hear it because it still freaks me out.
And. So. I hope everyone has a great weekend.
If my blogging abruptly stops, you'll know that I probably got buried naked under 20 feet of snow because I do not have a mullet and was practicing being comfortable showing my Lady Business to rooms full of strangers.
Remember me by eating nachos and Dairy Queen ice cream cake. Maybe light a candle (but not french vanilla, because gag).