I guess fall means back to the ho-hum for most people. For me, it means crisp air, apple picking, baking (to warm the house of course), weight gain (from the baking…), and a mentally absent husband on Sundays.
It’s not that I don’t like football, I do enjoy the complexity of the game, and the intensity. Hell, I even cringe with excitement at big tackles, most times in awe that these men just get up and keep playing. I guess being a millionaire makes people do stupid things… I just can’t get over the talk before and after, and all week leading up the next game. It drives me nuts when Ant leaves CSN (comcast sports net) on the set in the morning when he leaves for work. And, while I’m totally capable of turning the television off, I end up forgetting its on and it becomes a soundtrack to my morning. CSN, my friends, it’s like groundhogs day. They replay the same show every half hour ALL morning. It makes me want to tackle the damn set. As a result, when he gets home from work, I’m the one telling HIM who’s on the DL and who had a season ending injury. He is delighted at my enlightenment, even if it is feigned.
Who am I to complain? I love celeb gossip just as much as the next girl, and sports talk, I’ve decided, is the male equivalent to it.
One third of the way through my pregnancy, and you know what the doc says to me today at my check up? He prods my gut sufficiently and matter-of-factly described me as “appropriately puffy”.
To this all I can say is: I guess the last 12 weeks have been, appropriately gassy, and sufficiently bitchy, oh and moderately sleepy, even conveniently nauseous.
Nice try buddy.
Aside from my dramatic interpretation of this go around, it’s not been too bad, but definitely different than it was with CK.