I know, I know. I’ve missed you, too! The weekend was a blur of cake, fake pregnancies and remembering what it’s like to have social engagements. My head is still spinning, but only because I busted out 9 stupid miles last night, not from morning sickness.
When the fam arrived on Saturday, I wanted to greet them with an acceptable mix of hospitality and brutal honesty. So I made a sign that said:
Here are today’s announcements:
1. The Noa’s are visiting from VA.
2. Natalie turns 27 on Tuesday.
There will be no other announcements made today. Thanks for coming!
The news was not received well. I’d go so far as to say if everyone knew there would be no belly pats and cooing to my uterus, they would have conveniently had other plans and missed the whole shindig entirely. But deception really is key to maintaining healthy family relationships, right alongside a gluttonous enjoyment of spaghetti and birthday cake!
That bruise on my left arm is what happens when SEVEN aunts are convinced you’re preggo and find out the “surprise” is that I got highlights. Big mistake.
Kidding. It’s actually what happens when you tell your husband everyone already thinks you’re pregnant so maybe you should just go for it.
Shut up about not having a bun in that oven.
You shut up.
Ok, I’ll talk about Friday. After months and months apart, we rekindled our couples romance with my best friend and her husband. The best friend that actually is growing another human inside her body. And what do growing kiwi-sized babies need more than all the love and umbilical fluid in the world? Fro yo, duh. Read a book.
What? Our stomachs look exactly the same even though she’s four months pregnant? I know. I started thinking maybe I don’t want to be friends with her anymore.
While I thought about breaking up with her, I agreed to pedicures to give her another chance. And she ordered the Rolls Royce of pedicures, which included a fruit scrub, a geisha, orange slices mushed up and down your shins, Tatum Channing and nail polish. After she said I could have T.C. for one weekend a month, like a joint custody situation, I caved and we’re BFFs again.
I just noticed it looks like I had an accident in my pedi water. Much less appetizing than girlfriend’s.
We’re with the band.
Saturday night was spent rocking out to my cousin’s mostly solo performance at a bar in Tampa. He’s basically a genius, and between sets I made sure to talk extra loudly to him so that everyone would know I was totally VIP. That somehow made it less embarrassing when I flashed my butt trying to get off a stool in a shorty short sundress. Win some, lose some.
When I graduated, my private high school only had 200 students. About 83% of them were at the bar. It was odd to see people who I remember as awkward, brace-faced high school freshmen drinking beer and being adult-y. It was probably equally weird for them to see the principal’s daughter three beers deep flashing people from the front row.
Enough about me (yeah, right). Check out my cousin’s band Marksmen. And then check out my other cousin’s impressive photo bomb:
Ridin’ so low
Sadly, Clayton left for Virginia Sunday. I was so depressed I ran 9 miles. It went a bit long (thanks, humidity!), and I still had a few miles left when it got dark outside. I kept a lookout for anything sketchy, just like my mom told me to. Turns out, the only thing sketchy was my mom trailing me in her car for the last mile and a half. It was sweet until she shouted, “You haven’t finished that mile yet?!” Such maternal support.
Afterwards, I stretched, showered and wanted to die. Clayton responded to my S.O.S. text with such practical, sound advice: “Eat a little fruit, drink water and take deep breaths.” I translated that to “Roll around moaning in bed scaring the dog and watching an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie.” I may have misunderstood.
Today I’m making sure to refuel properly.
After all, it is birthday week!