Lay Off, I'm STARVING!

I have honestly never been more excited about Thanksgiving than I am right now. One week away and I already have visions of bacon-baked green beans dancing in my head. Turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, my mother-in-law's killer stuffing, homemade cranberry sauce and pecan pie! Pumpkin pie! Marshmallow-crusted sweet potatoes! Yes please. Momma's eating for two. So what if one of us is roughly the size of a baseball? This is one ravenous fetus! Pardon me, but "What to Expect When You're Expecting"s Best Odds Diet can kiss my creepy second-toe. I feel like I'm giving life to a Velociraptor. This is my third pregnancy and I am reluctantly accepting that the closer I come to resembling Jabba the Hut during pregnancy, the happier my babies are. So as much as I would like to stay within the bounds of regular weight-gain this time around, my body is telling me to forget it. Afterall, I still have three more years before my metabolism shuts down right? Bring on the real whipped cream; the fetus wants what the fetus wants!

My Real Life Nightmares: Part Two

"When Good Geese Go Bad... "

I do in fact realize that I have had more bizarre and embarrassing experiences than the average human being. Maybe its just rotten luck. Maybe I cause it. Whatever the reason, I have come to accept that it is the price I pay everyday for being me. With that in mind you'll have to excuse me for being a little paranoid, even fearful of seemingly non-threatening objects/ situations including: pottery wheels, Ikea, volleyball nets, rope-swings, phones, drive-thrus, spiders, friendly gestures, leaping, multi-tasking, and geese. While all make for entertaining stories, today's story is about a goose. An exceptionally e-vile goose we will call Jorge. He wasn't a Mexican goose or anything. His parents just happened to like the name.

When Brooklyn was a baby, Andy and I lived in a little townhouse in Murray. We liked our little townhouse, and all the identical surrounding townhouses. We liked the landscaping and the pool. We even liked our neighbor who covered all his windows with tin-foil. The only downside to our little townhouse was the fact that Jorge lived on the roof. Not directly on top of our unit, but close enough to observe our comings and goings. And the thing is, he didn't seem to pay mind to anyone else's comings and goings. No, he only had eyes for me. Beady, angry eyes.

I don't know what I did to offend him. But he watched for me. And at the sight of my attempting a stroll with my infant, looking nervously about, he would launch unwarranted attack. Swooping at my head, charging me with his vicious hissing beak, flapping his dirty great wings. Yes, Jorge was a real douche.

I called the condo manager, but she liked Jorge and considered him an asset to the community. I considered calling animal control, but figured Jorge had people on the inside. Retaliation was my only option. My next walk I played it cool. I pushed the stroller casually, looking straight ahead, whistling, all the while aware of Jorge's ever- ominous presence. I was not disappointed. He appeared suddenly from behind a bush and slowly turned his face towards mine. Our eyes met. I could feel his hatred permeate the street between us. I stepped towards him. He seemed surprised.

"You seem surprised," I quietly taunted. He hissed menacingly and took two steps towards me. Tension mounted. "Freedom!" I shouted as I ran at him. He dodged me and tried to bite my calf. But I had a secret weapon. Before he knew it, I had my flip flop in hand and was delivering a beating the likes of which he will never forget. A car drove past us. I can only imagine what the people inside it were thinking.

"Check out that crazy barefooted lady beating that beautiful, defenseless creature of nature!"

No matter. Brooklyn thought it was a jolly fun show, and Jorge received his comeuppance. Unfortunately, he was more of an emotional than a logical thinker and continued to threaten me every chance he got, but I did observe the haunted look in his eye and his reluctantly kept distance whenever I reached for my shoe.