Inaugural Post

Home Office
I've been out of the blog game for awhile now, but I've realized that I'm just too gabby for the GIF-lovin' Tumblr and 140-character-limited Twitter. And Facebook... well, *looks around, leans in and whispers* Facebook is trying to take over the world one "like" at a time. It's not like I'm saying Facebook is a front for an evil despotic empire hellbent on public manipulation and totalitarian surveillance, but... *puts on foil hat* ... Facebook is totally a front for an evil despotic empire hellbent on public manipulation and totalitarian surveillance.

So I've returned to my old friend Blogger to provide me ample room to air my grievances and share pictures of my vajayjay. Probably not that last part, but if it sells books, who am I to play coy?

Role Model
Speaking of vajayjays! If you haven't heard, I gots me a baby comin' in late March. You probably haven't heard, unless you were at the Chinese restaurant where we told our parents and my mom subsequently told the entire restaurant. Actually, it was a Japanese restaurant. We had wanted to do Chinese, because we made up fortune cookies with the announcement, but my mom suggested a new Japanese place instead and I couldn't exactly say that I'm off sushi for the next nine. So, we met at the Japanese restaurant and I slyly slipped the fortune cookies into their napkins, correctly assuming they wouldn't know the diff.

One tough cookie.
However, when fortune cookie time came, we forgot one little thing: Parents are old and stubborn, which means not only will they be unable to read the small print of a two-inch fortune, but they will have failed to bring their reading glasses, even though they knew there would be menus chock full of tiny, illegible letters. So with her granny blues squinted so hard they nearly closed, my mom deciphered her fortune aloud...


Cue Mr. Jen and I beaming as we awaited our kudos for a job well done. (A job that many assumed we must've been doing wrong, given that we've been married for ten years.) My mom grinned. She squee'd.

And then... she announced that this must mean it's time for her to get another dog. She repeats this, to make sure it has caught the full ire of my stepdad, who's perfectly happy with their current two.

"Why don't you just read the rest?" I said, with gritted teeth as a surge of preggy hormones coursed through my soon-to-be varicose veins. Finally, she began pulling the tiny slip of paper back and forth in front of her eyes until she finally realized there was a little more to the fortune.


And the rest was pretty much...

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