Mad Cow

Well, today is the day that I finally feel pregnant. As visions of Nicole Richie dance in my head, I just realized (because I am so damn good at delusion) that this ain't no celebrity pregnancy.

I had more or less managed to stave off the feeling thus far, thanks to a combo of working out, drinking tons of water and having a good attitude; but last night's fajitas were the tipping point. The weight gain is still pretty small (and, no, I am not some total freakazoid pregnant woman who obsesses over her weight—well, you know, not a total freakazoid), but the bloat is on (as said to a Glen Frye beat).

The real purpose of this post is not to complain, but to exclaim the complete and total panacea that is working out. My fellow preggo dudettes, get your asses to the gym; skip the lunches out and Starbucks and invest in a trainer; and/or just move something. Working out daily (daily-ish) on my own and working out weekly with the uber-fabulous Lori Sawyer (www.mommy-moves.com) has kept me on a mental, physical, emotional and spiritual high, the likes of which I can not accurately express in words.

Despite the necessary weight gain and the unnecessary bloat (evil fajitas!), I am stronger and in better shape than I have been in years—since I left Manhattan, actually. And motivation begets motivation, so making a goal to work out and then doing it really, truly impacts all areas of your life.

Well, off to pound down some water in an effort to rid myself of last night's salt fiesta. Puff Mommy is not a becoming moniker.

Other good names for this post: Boss Hog and Heifer National.