If something falls on the floor...you have to really weigh your decision as to how important that object is and if it's worth spending 19 minutes bending down to your knees, reaching over to pick it up, hoisting your wrecking ball gut back up - joints crying out in protest - and carrying on. Usually whatever that object is, it wasn't worth holding onto anyway, so just leave it on the floor. If it's food, that's what the cat and dog are for.
Checking the mail is a great form of exercise.
Walking from one side of the house to the other whilst talking on the phone to your mom will make you really winded, so make sure she knows you're okay and not running a marathon.
Converse All-Stars have no stretch in them at all...and will have to be retired until my feet return to their less than Hobbit size dimensions.
Feeling the baby(s) move is not nearly as creepy as I thought it'd be. In fact, it's quite fascinating and I find myself watching my tummy for long periods of time at night (when they move the most). David thinks I'm either asleep or in deep thought. I just tell him I'm inventing things. I do have a lot of good ideas.
Those "horrific" birthing videos they tell you crazy stories about are not at all as scary and terrifying as they say. Actually, they're kind of mundane. I feel asleep a few times...."big whoop, I've seen that on Animal Planet." (That's an exaggeration...they are KIND of crazy, but not THAT bad...nothing I'm going to Netflix, but nothing that will give me nightmares.)
Feeling your baby get the hiccups makes you react with this "Awwwwwwwww...is she okay? Poor thing. Bless her heart" even though the Dr. and everything you've ever read or heard about lets you know it's okay and doesn't hurt them and actually helps their diaphragm development. But still...it's pitiful.
Along those same lines...being babied makes you say "Awwwwwwwwwww" and "So cute!" and "Precious" a lot....even if previously you never ever used those words.
Speaking of words...all of a sudden, I can't stand it when David says I'm "nesting." I don't think of it in a cute, bird type of way. When I hear "nesting", I picture a rat building a nest filled with little naked rat babies. I choose to refer to it as "cleaning and organizing."
If you can't remember your Dad's name or if you don't know what year it is or if you have on a tank top and go from underneath to put your deodorant on (what is it with me and my deodorant problems), don't fret...just blame it on the fact that all of your brain power has gone towards cooking two human turkeys...well-done and honey glazed. Wait, that's a ham...mmmm mmmmmmm ham.
There are a LOT of views of parenting out there...and although everyone means well, you have to choose what's best for you. So, if some people keep their kids in crates at night, that's their decision. Maybe give an anonymous call to Social Services...but just because they do it, it doesn't mean you have to. My kids will get a high-class cardboard box, because they deserve the best.
Priorities change drastically...no longer are you worried about what you're going to be doing that weekend or which movie you're going to see or which restaurant you want to eat at...you're more concerned with "how fast can I eat that entire footlong sub? I really should time myself. This is gonna be awesome...one for the record books."
Publix and military commercials, and Richard Dreyfuss and William H. Macy Hallmark movies will make you cry unabashedly. Go ahead and let it out.
If you can't breathe when you have a t-shirt on...your shirt is too tight...just accept it and go change.
Don't look at pictures of yourself before you got babied. Just don't do it.
Women of any age will look at your belly, then look at your face, and tilt their head to the side with a knowing look in their eyes and smile at you. Younger men will look at your belly, eyes wide, and will attempt to avoid walking near you or look at you at all costs. Older men will look at your belly and just staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare uninhibited. Children are the most fun, though. Boys and girls alike, will look at your belly, look at your face, look at the belly, look at the face, belly, face...then walk up and touch you and ask the most amazing questions..."Is there a baby in there? Did you have a baby? How old is your baby? How will the baby come out? Are you the mommy? I was a baby once. Are you pwegmant?"
Everything you look at or shop for or see online is measured by how much you think your children will like it or how will it enrich their lives.
You pray every single second of every single day for their well-being and that they'll grow strong and healthy...and you pray for their future husbands and that you'll be the most amazing parent to them and be a good example for them and not screw anything up. Which, you totally will...but that's why God is there with us the whole way...to reassure us and remind us that we're not perfect. You worry for them alllll the time. Even when they're not even born yet, you get angry towards the people that would ever wish them harm and you picture them driving...oh my gosh...I'm never going to let them drive. You look forward to their weddings (IF we let them get married) because you get to help pick out dishes and towels and dresses all over again! YAY!!! You start planning what they'll be dressed as for future Halloweens. You think of ways to tell them apart when they're babies and wonder if any of those ways are considered child abuse...writing on them with Sharpies, for example.
I've learned a lot since May...my brain is full.