Preggo my Eggo Update: 27 weeks down, thirteen to go. (Mickey Rourke, rest away from my vagina.)
I made it! I finally hitting the 3rd trimester. Yay!
I went to the liquor aisle of my grocery shop looking for a proficient bottle of vino for my hubby's birthday this week. That was stupid. It was similar giving me a delicious slice of chocolate cake that punches me inwards the confront every fourth dimension I demeanour on it amongst a fork*. Needless to say, ADD Daddy didn't larn whatever vino as well as I left the shop feeling similar a junior high fry afterward a black of dry out humping: keyed upwardly as well as unfulfilled.
The other black I said to my husband, "We bring a problem. I remember my "area" is starting to hold off similar Mickey Rourke." He replied, "Um...OK. That's non good." Exactly. So, due to increased blood catamenia as well as the pressure level of My Sponsor using it every bit a hammock, my materials is starting to resemble a resurging thespian from the '80s that didn't know when to tell when amongst the plastic surgery. Ew. I know.
*I fille you, Bob Rybarczyk. Suburban Fringe was awesomeness.
I went to the liquor aisle of my grocery shop looking for a proficient bottle of vino for my hubby's birthday this week. That was stupid. It was similar giving me a delicious slice of chocolate cake that punches me inwards the confront every fourth dimension I demeanour on it amongst a fork*. Needless to say, ADD Daddy didn't larn whatever vino as well as I left the shop feeling similar a junior high fry afterward a black of dry out humping: keyed upwardly as well as unfulfilled.
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| At to the lowest degree ameliorate than Mickey. |
*I fille you, Bob Rybarczyk. Suburban Fringe was awesomeness.