I don’t love this song any less now that I’m knocked up

In fact, I kinda love it more.

And I’m totally smug. Totally.

Though this doesn’t stop me from making all sorts of jokes about how damn lucky this kid is right now, with it being -22 in Moscow, and him or her all snug in my womb. I mean, it’s so cold that your face hurts every time you go outside, but is that a problem for this kid? Hell no, it is not. Does he or she need to worry about purchasing a warmer pair of gloves or not being able to stand around and wait for the bus without his or her ass freezing off? Hell no, he or she does not.

He or she also has someone else eating for him or her, which is convenient and fascinating, really, because I can’t be five minutes late with my latest meal without feeling as though I am about to diiiiiiiiiiiiie. I’m forced to seek food like a rampaging zombie, interrupting meetings with “I’m sorry, I have to eat,” and reappearing after a few minutes with reheated lasagna in tow.

If anything, this kid ought to be smug as well, if not smugger.

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