Who ate all the pies?

 

Alise and I both had a weigh in last night.

 

Alise has been gaining weight gradually, and steadily. I shall not reveal her poundage on this blog because I'm a gentleman, and also because I prefer my testicles to be attached to my body; but suffice it to say, she's gained some. She didn't have any morning sickness as we started this journey (thankfully), and had a healthy appetite so at a time when a lot of mothers to be actually lose weight, she was starting to bulk up. She's still wonderfully healthy and generally happy, and looks radiant. I did (cruelly) compare her pose while putting on her boots to that of an unbalanced turkey, but I hope that she knows that I truly think that she's beautiful, balanced, and providing a fine first home to our son.

 

I also weighed myself. I've also put on weight. I do not have an excuse.

 

In the last month or so, I've put on something like 7 pounds. 7 pounds!! I'm now 153 pounds and am the heaviest that I've ever been. I tried to explain to Alise that my hair does need cutting, I did need to blow my nose and that my socks were terribly heavy; but I didn't kid her or myself. I'm getting fat, and it needs to stop.

 

It is, apparently, common. Father's to be often gain weight during the pregnancy, and along with the mother lose it once the poop-monster is unveiled. For me though, this represents a sizable gain and comes without any real excuse. Perhaps I've been eating a little more? I certainly shouldn't be this heavy.

 

I think it probably comes down to karma. If there is someone upstairs (or downstairs, whatever) who can control these things, he (or she, whatever) probably overheard my turkey comment and decided to act. Message received I say, message received.