"It's official...my poundage exceeds that of some of those damn players that have been displayed across our screen all day," I said to my husband as he worked to stifle a laugh. "Seriously - I might as well go all Chiefs up in here if I'm going to weight this much...at least I'd be making more dough."
"Yah, but you'd play for a sucky team," he replies, coming over to pat the bump and half-smiling as he made an additional comment that seemed to center on naming our un-born son after a man in tights.
Or should I say Jessica Simpson moment? Because girl, people were giving you a hard time about your stats, but let me tell you, JS got nothin' on this mama. You just waddle over here when you're starting to feel like a beached whale with your number two so you can find some peace within yourself. Plus, it will give me a discussion buddy to talk through this since this is all very new to me given I pulled a Kate Middleton through nearly 30 weeks with little dude, leaving me still pounds lighter at delivery from where I started (and NO, it wasn't worth it).
What? You didn't think I was going to talk about the Super Bowl from the title, did you? Because unless it involves Cheetos, half a veggie tray and two large plates of lasagna, I saw very little. Which is probably got me in this situation in the first place. That and the whole "creating a human inside a human" thing I got goin' on.
Regardless, now accepting scout visit for linebacker positions because friends, I've made the stats. It may not be in lean muscle and height, but stats nonetheless.
And I think that counts for something...