A Briefing

If you're of the male gender, you may not like this post. You're warned.

Tomorrow I turn 34. There I admitted it. I feel like 24, but I'm a fair bit older than that. 

I celebrated the aging process by buying something I needed direly: granny panties. 

I'm not joking. 

I'm pregnant, large and in charge. 

But now I'm comfortable in my unmentionables. There. You've been briefed. *

It's okay with me that I don this older apparel for now, but hit me if I start using words like "sensible" or "tasty". 

Dan has already warned me that I'm going to apologize to him tomorrow. If you were a fly on the wall of our kitchen tonight, you would hear us joking about his birthday history with me. We've been married 8 years now, so I have no qualms asking specifically for, say, a birthday cake. 

On my birthday. Not after. 

With "Happy Birthday" written on it. Instead of "OOPS".

We joked how each year I add another qualification for my card or cake because of his "creativity". I will gladly eat those words, Dan. And my pastry. 

I suppose that I should go through some sort of grieving process about being mid-30s, but I really don't feel anything. The fertility clinic did a stellar job of telling me how several of my organs are that of a 40 year old woman so I figure I'm ahead there. And being pregnant while hearing another year clunk by doesn't have the same effect as if I were not pregnant. These wacky preggers hormones tell me to think weird things like:

"I'm trying to be more 'green'. How can I help rocks?"

"Angeli.na Joli.e? She's not THAT pretty."

and

"Did Bara.ck (Obama.s) mother see a chicken before she named him?" 

You get my drift. 

So in my book, since I'm not really myself, I'm not really aging. I get a rebate for having pregnancy brain. And granny panties.

* Couldn't. Resist. The pun.