Mr. Working-From-Home is hard at work on his laptop at the kitchen table, which means that he can't play with me, aside from bringing me a big, dark-blue towel and telling me to bring it with me wherever I go in the house, to sit on, just in case. (he even graciously tucked it under me in bed last night - on top of the dark sheets and plastic mattress cover that we already have in place!)
The house is clean, the room is ready, the freezer's stocked with soups, stews, and possibly too much baking, the bags are packed, and everyone else I know is at work (of course), so I'm counting down the minutes till we go to the gym at lunch, which will be the high point of my day, unless the leg wax I have booked for this afternoon is more fun than usual.
Most of the fun of going to the gym, of course, is the looks on the men's faces. The women all smile at me, or approach me with words of encouragement and support. But the men, hoo boy. They look like they either want to run away or just cry, especially when I do squats. Which is sort of why I do them. Is that wrong?
Note: I caught my reflection last week, and if I saw someone that looked like me doing squats, I would stop me!
The belly (hopefully the final photo), at right**, shows off my impressive physique. My measurements are now 36 (woo-hoo!) - 37 - 35. Hot. And I've gained about 26 lbs, depending on the day and how much water this camel is retaining.
*It's a good thing, too, since the baby, had it arrived yesterday, would have been named Epiphany Tiffany, even if it was a boy. I'm still hoping for a Punctual Pubert or a Deadline-savvy Dilda.**alternate title: Show Me Your Teeth