I miss being able to cross my legs. Just now while sitting at my desk, I had the nerve to actually try and bring my right leg over the left. The right leg struggled and quickly gave up by falling back down in its place. It was like I had no say in the matter at all… my belly told my right leg NAH UH and my right leg sighed, said okay and fell back down. Pssst crossing legs only leads to varicose veins anyway…

I’m mad that as soon as I start blogging again, my twin decides that she wants to post every full moon. That is so not cute Boog. I still luh you doh.

Yesterday, this white chick at work thought it would be mighty cute of her to come up to me and touch my belly. I almost went Sophia on her (catch the Color Purple reference) when my fists balled up really tight. I could feel my face turning red and my blood pressure rising. I just wanted to say so bad… “get the hell away from me… don’t touch me, you don’t know me…” shit all of the above if I had to. JT said I should just simply say, “don’t touch my belly.” For some reason this seems like the most difficult task. Everytime this has happened to me, I’m thinking nothing but evil thoughts. While I might have initial intentions of saying, “don’t touch my belly,” the statement my come out as “get the fuck away from me,” in some exorcist type voice. And we know that that would just be wrong, so until I learn to deal when my anger… I just won’t be saying anything.

Sunday, while getting ready to head out and see The Bourne Supremacy, I looked down at my feet and noticed that they had done their little Incredible Hulk thang again by swelling up. This time was much worse than before… I couldn’t fit any of my tennis shoes or sandals. The only thing that I could fit were red slippers, the flip flop style kind. I was so embarrassed that I almost didn’t want to go to the movies. JT was supportive though… and I went anyway. Walking on a flat surface was no easy task and going up and downstairs was even more of a challenge. I really just wanted to lay down and cry.

Nevertheless, The Bourne Supremacy was a great movie. The sequel to the trilogy should be just as good, if not better.

Of course, all this week I have worn my house shoes to work. I really had no other option. I don’t want to take my maternity leave yet… and I’m sick of people at work asking me when I’m “ready to drop them babies.” If I frown at them enough, perhaps they’ll get the picture soon. Some woman in my training class thought she would socialize with me and ask, “can you walk?” Instead of cursing her ass out, I replied, “umm YEAH…,” frowned at her ass and walked off. Why would you ask such a stupid ass question while I am walking? Oh and how uncute of this women to yell from the end of the hallway, “awww look at you waddling…” I didn’t turn around, but I suspect that I know who said that. People do not think before they speak… really they don’t. A pregnant woman doesn’t want to hear shit like that. Go tell a fat ass bitch, “awww look at you waddling.” Would she like some shit like that said to her? Hell naw… so don’t think I like the shit.

It ’s clear that the twins need to be born healthy mighty soon because I’m getting more evil by the hour.

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