Twenty fourteen.

I was feeling oddly sentimental today.  This is what happened - I got on FB to stalk a former teacher co-worker who I heard was in the baby way.  Found her, then found out that she has a blog which she's written in REGULARLY for the past, like, 5 years.  And I was like, hey, I used to be a teacher.  I miss that.  And I was like, hey, I used to write about stuff.  And I miss that too.  So here we are.

Let's get caught up, shall we? Don't worry, it won't take long.  In a nutshell:  I went ahead and got married, quit my job (BIG thanks to a second income in my life - no shame in my game.), and then got knocked up (weeeeeeeeeeee!).  We moved to the suburbs (Plano) where I am surrounded by old people, crazy people, and lots of strip malls.

I'm super excited to be pregnant.  I am.  Upcoming blog:  "Lissa turns into a psychopath when she gets baby fever and her husband may never look at her the same again".
 
Hey, wanna know what's beautiful and magical about being pregnant?

NOT. 

MUCH.

I'm in my second trimester, but still slugging through the yuck of the first trimester.  Such as:  vomiting in my kitchen sink every morning when I smell the cat food. Thanks baby.
I look like I have a beer gut.  Thanks baby.
I can no longer enjoy god's gift to mankind - bacon.  Thanks baby.
I'm forced to sleep on my side, my boobs are giant jugs that feel like they are on fire, and my skin looks like I dunk it in a vat of grease every morning.  THANKS. BABY.
 (***I feel like I must do a disclaimer in order to not offend/scare people:  I'm so thankful that I am able to be pregnant and I know that every minute of discomfort is worth it and I'm already in love with little gummy growing inside me so please don't get offended by my bitching, k?  Thanks.***)

Subject change:  My husband has been hogging the TV watching basketball (ugh.) but looks like he dozed off. This is my chance to sneak the remote and watch last night's episode of The Real Housewives.

Peace out.