Slabs of cow, and other things

I started exercising again today.  Granted, it's not of the caliber that I'd like to be doing, but at this point just getting my heart rate above couch-level is feeling pretty good.  I always forget how much of a stress reliever exercise is for me until I stop doing it and inevitably descend into a pit of anxiety. 

Other walkers at the standpipe were wearing their fancy close-fitting pink and purple Puma tops.  I wore the only shorts that still fit me and an old beer t-shirt I got for free at a concert once.  I was feeling pretty classy.

The only other significant thing that happened this weekend was that I ate fourteen pounds of beef jerky.  REAL beef jerky, not that Jack Link crap you find in supermarkets around here.  I'm from the Adirondacks, we're jerky snobs.  Michael and I bought six giant slabs of this stuff.  It's like they shaved off an entire side of a cow and then dried it. 

I told Michael that we were not to buy any baby-related stuff until twenty weeks.  If you ask me whether I believe in bad luck or jinxing things, I will tell you that no I don't, and how that's ridiculous.  But I will throw salt over my shoulder if I spill it.  And I will not open an umbrella in the house.  And the idea of buying baby things before I'm well along freaks me right out. 

Michael keeps trying to jump the date up, or sneaking things in here and there.  Yesterday we found a section of onesies that were really cheap, and we bought one.  I want to puke. 



It started with a stuffed animal that he won in one of those scammy claw machine games.  He jokingly called it baby's first toy.  Then he ordered a Dr. Seuss book online.  And now the onesie.  Oh, the onesie.

I will leave you with the worst idea I've had yet:  Whole chocolate milk and grilled cheese.  I've never been so sick in my life as I was last Tuesday.