slip of the tongue...

So, my dear dear friend Rachael said something at Moms Group last week that STILL has me cracking up at the thought.

When referring to Bobby and Candace, she accidentally said Bobbace and Candy. Instant, unintentional humor. We've been quoting her all week, trying to decide which Pecaut gets to be "Candy". Hard to say when they're both so sweet (ha ha--cheese, I know).

But all this Bobbace talk got me thinking. I started using Rachael's name formula, plugging in different friends and family members to see which couples sound extra silly in Rachael-ese.

I'll let you decide for yourself:

Marcky and Bety
Rychael and Rayan
Marah and Satt
Mess and Jike
Yadriana and Aori
Beather and Hilly
Manna and Att
Marty and Mimi (ha ha)
Baura and Len
Grannah and Hace
Rary Ann and Mick
Katasha and NC

I don't know. I think Bobbace and Candy still take the cake. Er, the candy.

Here it is, girls...

So, at almost every Stirring function, when a bunch of us women are sitting around, sipping coffee and gabbing about the latest vampire novel, somehow my huge pregnant belly always seems to come up in conversation. I don't know how it creeps in there, but it does, and I find myself smiling and nodding as these girls tell me how huge I was. And no one means any harm by it, it's just that apparently I was an anomoly to the entire church body--I was the new girl that was skinny as a rail with a belly the size of China tacked onto the front of me. I was the new girl that nobody knew but everybody knew.

And of course, at a baby shower this past week, my big ol' belly stuck it's big ol' belly into a convo some of the girls were having about pregnancy. I was chatting with someone else when I overheard someone mention my name and say the usual, "But you couldn't even tell she was pregnant from the back!" It's probably because I gained all my pregnancy weight in my face. All forty pounds, sitting in my cherub-y chipmunk cheeks.

Anyway, a couple of the girls at the baby shower met me after I had had Marty and was at least trying to squeeze into normal-people clothing. They know me as my much smaller, much less whoa-look-at-that-belly-there-must-be-like-five-babies-in-there self. So, friends, since you asked to see a picture of this pregnancy anomoly, I thought I'd oblige. Even though pulling this photo out again makes me feel like I have to pee--I swear, my bladder was flat as a pancake by this point:


So yes, I really was this big. Goo. I had to literally cradle my belly and support its weight with my arms if I walked for more than ten minutes, just to spare my poor aching back. And I was pregnant for another three weeks AFTER this picture was taken. So tack on another ten-or-so pounds, and you've got a great mental picture of me waddling into the maternity ward when Marty was finally ready to arrive, yelling at some poor nurse to "get this thing out of me"!

Fun times, gals. FUN times.