And now I feel guilty because I'm completely lying to you.
In reality, I don't keep this up regularly because I feel like this:
Thanks to this:
Combined with this:
Who, incidentally, has gained an alarming proficiency with this:
I'm not sure how it happened, but it may have something to do with the fact that, in general, all I want to do is this:
On an unrelated note,
I want to eat this:
|Martha Stewart Image|
I see nothing inconsistent with that. Let me reside in my hormone-induced fantasy world.
In my mind, I look like this:
Except instead of rising majestically from the sea, imagine it sprawled on the couch with various food crumbs adorning it's belly.
|What? It's slightly smaller.|
Only my pouch will be a baby bjorn. Also, I think I'm missing another pretty important member of my offspring. Which will also most likely happen quite a few times.
So, forget taking your kids to the zoo. Just bring them over here and see what creature I morph into each day. I promise not to scare them. Much.