. Adventures in Pregnancy: The Birthday Edition .

My birthday is next week. I turn thirty. In my head, I had this whole big post planned about everything I've accomplished before I turned thirty, but what I really want to talk about instead are my apparently massive/giant sized calves.

For the past three years, I've wanted a pair of Hunter Rain Boots. Why these particular boots, you ask? Hell if I know, but I did. That's the point here. I wanted them.

 Aren't they pretty?

I have such good taste sometimes.

So, The Husband, the kind soul that he is, got me a pair for my birthday. He's been teasing me for days about a package that shipped, about a package that was almost here, about a package that should be on our front stoop. For a person that has the patience of a gnat, it was all becoming too much. And finally. FINALLY ... they arrived.

I tore open the box and pulled out the prettiest pair of boots I've ever seen.

AT was sooo proud of himself.

I kicked off my heels and tugged on the rubber boots. And tugged. And tugged some more.

Obviously these boots are made for people that don't work out, people that don't eat, people that "naturally" have legs like toothpicks, and/or people that aren't pregnant. And obviously, I was in denial ... right up until the rubber from the boot began to slice into my calf. And by slice -- I definitely mean cutting off all of the circulation to my ankle.

I looked up at Aaron with tears in my eyes when I finally came to the conclusion that no, they certainly did not fit. I tried to throw a temper tantrum. Oh, yes, I certainly did. If I could've gotten the boot off, I would've stomped all around the house (mostly just to restore the necessary circulation to my big toe).

Rubber is tricky though. It likes to suction itself to things.

Like my leg.

And suddenly, I found myself facing the washing machine, my hands bracing myself, while my husband stood behind me (laughing his ass off), trying desperately to pull off the stubborn piece of mcshitty rubber.

Not so pretty now, are they?

Nope.

Not pretty at all.

As I was filling out the slip to return the mcshitty rubber boots back to where they came from, AT was researching other boot options. All I could think about was the fact that obviously my calves are the size of Germany.

Finally, (everyone take a deep breath here) a replacement pair was found. These have a handy extender in the back. Apparently, they are super popular because they were sold out on three different websites. Take note Hunter: women are women and like to eat pudding sometimes.

{I totally like these better anyway. :) }

Which totally brings me to my next point.

Tonight, I was sitting on the couch - completely enthralled with the newest episode of The Following (you neeeeeed to be watching this show, people) - and I asked Aaron to bring me some pudding.

Because I'm pregnant. And allll I want lately are pudding cups, brownies, cupcakes, Claussen sandwich sliced pickles, and salads from Zio's.

Don't be all judgey.

Anyway. Aaron brought me a container of pudding. Four pudding cups. FOUR.

I gave him my best Denise-Austin-would-be-so-pissed-at-you look, but the boy just shrugged his shoulders.

You guys.

Do you know what he said?

"YOLO."

And on THAT note, you should continue to pray for us.

I love you like the Subway sandwiches I can't have,

Becky