If you're happy and you know it, grunt and stand!

For lunch, I made a gigantic bowl of spaghetti and tomato sauce with lentils. We had that for dinner last night and there wasn't enough to have seconds, even though I wanted MORE!!! Well, there was enough, but we save all leftovers for T to have for lunch so he doesn't have to buy lunch. So to satisfy my (still present after sleeping on it) need for more spaghetti, I had to make a new batch today at lunch.

Technically, the -T gets the leftovers deal- is fair. Since I'm at home, I can make my own damn lunch. I have the leisure and time to do so. In practice though, it's annoying. I love leftovers! They are so easy. This begs the obvious question: Why don't you make more dinner so that there are enough leftovers for both of you? Why indeed. I've been trying for years to get the hang of that. Even when I think I am making an army platoon worth of food, we plate it and it's barely enough for 3 servings. Plate it? Who am I? Martha Stewart? Darling, I've plated your toast for you, tis ready for you to delight in. It's like Moe from the Simpsons saying to Homer "OOh Garage. You call it a garage. Well la dee dah." Homer says: "Well, what do you call it?"
Moe says: " A car hole."


So anyway, for lunch today, I filled a big cereal bowl to the top with spaghetti and place your bets on me eating it all ladies and gentlemens.

...

It's later now.

I ate it all.

Lordy lordy, I am full. I avenged the spaghetti craving, that much is accomplished. Now, I wonder if half a bowl might have also done the trick. Or maybe not drinking the huge, cold glass of water right after...I feel like a water balloon, that also has a lot of spaghetti in it. Nice imagery huh?

The moral of this story is...is...hmm. I'm stumped. There is no morality here I guess. It's a moral-less meal jungle. Only the strong survive! Only the - able to make enough for a proper amount of leftovers so they don't have to make it twice and then eat too much the second time around- will rule the jungle!

Forget the fact that we should be making EXTRA extras so we can have leftovers AND double that to freeze, for when we have a 2 week old child and 2 minutes of sleep and find ourselves eating handfuls of flour or mustard with a spoon like pudding because we are too exhausted and incoherent to make a real meal.

So much to learn, so much to learn.

I"m going to get one more hair cut before the next long long while, tomorrow. I figured I'd fit one last attempt at looking slightly kempt before the whole new baby, can't get out of my pajamas thing. Even now, I can't be bothered to wear make-up most of the time anymore, or small things like putting earrings in. Often, while getting dressed, I think, Gah, do I really have to put on a bra??

I'm sort of nervous about going to get my hair done, because it's a train ride, then a short metro ride, involving stairs, then a 5 minute walk. Lately, just walking to the mailbox, 2 minutes away, requires an hour of recovery after. However. it's my birthday Tuesday. I feel like I should make one last attempt, at the age of 35, to at least have half-decent hair for the commencement of my 36th year. Aye carumba. 36. That's a number that is not kidding around. 36 ain't playin'.

Oh whatever, who cares. 36, schmirty schmix. I probably don't need the stupid dumb haircut either. What's it matter in the grand scheme of things ? Life, the universe and leftovers...

Look at that. You can read, as it's happening, one of my rapid mood changes of late. I turn super sour and annoyed about something mid-sentence. Something that started off being fine. I also drop everything, I grunt from the effort of trying go from sitting to standing, I cry for no reason whatsoever, and I eat too much spaghetti.

Parts of pregnancy are amusing and fun and parts are gritty and not at all pretty. I guess most of the those latter parts seem to happen in the last 2 months. 10 weeks left, possibly 7. Egads, I say. Tally ho and hup hup as it were.

Look, I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore. If I lean too far back on the couch, the baby starts pressing into some major artery that leads to my heart and brain and things start to go all woozy.

By the way, we've been sort of quiet about it, but it's decided so dig it or shut it. He shall be named: Leon.

On that note.