What A Difference A Year Can Make.

I realized while driving Tori to day care for the very first time this morning (v. traumatic. will discuss later.), that it’s been almost exactly a year since I found out I was pregnant.

And what a year it’s been. So much has changed…so much, in fact, that I thought I’d write another one of my famous lists. The title of this one?

The Top Ten Ways Life Changed After I Got Knocked Up.

The bottom dropped out of Wall Street—I’m too lazy to go look up the exact date, but almost as soon as I announced to the world I was pregnant, the economy went into a tail spin. I always have had great timing…

Grey’s Anatomy was lost to me—Once the hormones started swirling, I could no longer take the ridiculous drama that Grey’s has embraced. I swear, last season they absolutely delighted in seeing how many people they could kill off—and every episode I watched ended with me in tears. Grey’s? You’re dead to me.

My ass earned its own zip code—I knew your tummy got huge during pregnancy. But no one warned me about the effect it would have on my butt. I remember thinking when I first tried on maternity jeans that there was waaaay too much room in the trunk. Turns out? No. No there wasn’t.

I entered a committed relationship with my toilet—First there was the nausea. Then the constant peeing. Which morphed into the constant trickle of pee as pregnancy progressed… I never realized how much time one person could spend in the bathroom.

I forgot to be terrified of the scale—The ever-increasing numbers were a good sign. It meant the baby was growing! And we were both healthy! And it had nothing to do with all those strawberry milkshakes I was drinking!

I learned to love Bob Ross— Can’t sleep? Watch The Joy of Painting. Works like a charm…so does Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations. Which is a shame, because I love that show. But as soon as I put it on, it’s lights out for Amber.

My family room got redecorated—Right before I got pregnant, we got new furniture. Then our TV died, so we got a flat screen. It looked pretty spiffy. And then? The baby stuff took over. Now I’m lucky if I can find the couch under the junk we have piled on top of it. And my fireplace? Is hidden behind the pack n play. I’m expecting an interior decorating magazine to call and schedule a photo shoot any day now.

My vocabulary shrank. And my voice rose an octave or three—Who’s a cute little blog reader? You are! Yes, you are! Uh-oh, have you got a stinkers? What a stinky stinkers!

Wait. What was I saying?

Oh yeah. My memory shrank, too—I think Tori liked to suck on my brain cells for lunch while she was living in my tummy. Because I suddenly seem to have a lot fewer of them…and the ones I do have aren’t responsible for things like remembering why I walked upstairs, or where my keys are. It’s a sad state of affairs.

And lastly (here comes the sap. Are you ready? Do you have your vomit buckets handy?)…

I made a miracle happen—My body took a tiny little cluster of cells and turned it into bones, and blood, and skin, and hair…all the things that make Tori the cutest little girl on the whole stinking planet. That’s pretty freaking amazing, people. Pretty freaking amazing.

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