What started out as a seemingly normal evening quickly turned strange…

   The birdy was singing for me. He sat right outside the window in the tree that hangs over my Expedition. And while he sang sweet songs of nature, nature made him poop on my sparkling car.

  And as I relax on the couch and wish for Birdy’s sake that he didn’t have such terrible irritable bowel syndrome, I look down to notice the rather large problem that I have acquired… No, those aren’t mine. Those ankles are-not-attached-to-my-body-noooooooo! They CAN’T belong to me?! What. The Hell. Are THOSE!?

And I want to run for my fargin’ life, because those were ugly and they scared the hell out of me. But, where there used to be a door there is now a wading pool. Where am I!?

And so I turn to run out the back door, but I encounter a grumpy tweenager who is doing the dishes and very angry about that. I decide it best not to go near him because it could be dangerous.

I run through this house searching for a safe way out before the sausage ankles make me look at them again. Nooooooo! Don’t make me look at those, PLEASE!

And then I encounter a gentle little beast. She reminds me that I’m home. She helps me not to be scared. She tells me to quit being such a damn woosy. She explains that I am of the Fat Feet Clan. And I belong where feet are fat. And she reminds me that my ankles and feet aren’t the only thing on my body that are very swollen.

She points out that my entire body is a bit water heavy these days. Like this thing I used to call a neck, or a chin, or a fargin’ face… These have now become ONE. SINGLE. ENTITY! Noooooooo! This can’t be happening!? I was once a WOMAN and now I am a… a… a swollen, triple chinned chunky ankle monster!

And, just when I want to start running again, the small beast looks up at me lovingly and grabs my hand. She doesn’t mind that her momma has “changed” a little bit. She kind of likes me all squishy and soft. And she shows me her double chin, and how beautiful it is. And she shows me her fat feet too. And I love them. Squishy people are quite lovable and cute. They are sweet and kissable. I am suddenly quite at peace with being part of the Fat Feet People…

I can handle the gestational fat. I can even handle the mean little tweenager. But I think that the damn poopy bird should go. I mean, let’s be fair. Buzz off you little shit-bird! Shoo!