a dodgy tribute…

…to my favorite ratty sweatshirt:

Because:

A) it is one of the very few warm articles of clothing that still fits me;
B) it is comfortable;
C) what are they going to do, fire me?

many a beer has been guzzled in this here sweatshirt

I’ve had this sweatshirt since 1997, having “acquired” it from a high school friend (O HAI MYRA) after I borrowed it and then left for college with it still on my person. (I know, I’m a dick.)

My sweatshirt and I endured a brief separation after I left it at a friend’s house and his roommate found it and started wearing it snowboarding. I was at that friend’s house more than a year later (it was a different house, even), when I saw my beloved sweatshirt slung over a chair. (queue: “Reunited”)

We’ve been together ever since, although I think if the opportunity presented itself, my mom would take the sweatshirt and quietly torch it with an expression of grim satisfaction on her face. Every time she sees me in it, she makes a comment like, “Oh, you still have that sweatshirt. That’s…that’s great.” Once, she even tried to buy me a new navy blue sweatshirt, but it just wasn’t the same.

…to my mom:

She really is an angel. Nothing like me whatsoever. Which means it is pretty easy to shock her (a skill I have been honing for years).

Yesterday, I sent her this cartoon:

[image source]

Her reply:

…to my hormones:

I go from being so blissfully happy that I’m nearly in tears, to being so utterly furious that I’m nearly in tears. I can’t run, I can’t sleep, I can’t breathe, I pee every five minutes, there is a foot jabbing me in my ribcage, and I can only eat about four bites of food before I feel like that fat dead guy from Seven.

I am also more than a little impatient to meet this baby friend I’ve been so generously hosting for the last 37 weeks. And…maybe I just don’t know enough to be properly terrified, but I’m not even (yet) dreading the agony of labor. I really just want it to happen so I can be not pregnant anymore. I almost don’t remember what that feels like. And I could use a beer.

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17 thoughts on “a dodgy tribute…

  1. You’ll be one hell of a mother. And I say this in a good way.
    I think.
    Your mom’s reply was funny! Hang on, still a bit to go before you can get totally wasted.

  2. After you pop the kid out, the hormone factor doesn’t really go away for a while. I would still randomly cry for a few weeks after. BUT, the good news is you can have a beer because you’re not knocked up anymore.

  3. That’s a poorly set up kill room.

    My old hoodies are really ratty because I have a horrible habit of biting the sleeves and neckline. I had one sweatshirt in high school that looked like it had been attacked by rats. I’m sure your daughter will love spitting up on that hoodie.

    • RIGHT? Where’s the dark, fitted thermal shirt and the polyvinyl sheeting!?

      People would pay good money to BUY a sweatshirt that looks like it’s been attacked by rats, right? Ours are genuine.

  4. I’ve heard that once the baby’s pretty much cooked, a beer won’t kill you. It. Either of you. Probably not time for tequila shots, but I say have a nice IPA.

  5. I have sweat pants that look a lot like that sweatshirt. Same color and everything. They are school issued from high school track. I told my Mom i still had them a few months ago and I’m sure she started plotting ways to break in to my house and destroy them.

    Also, since you are about 20 weeks closer to meeting your womb resident than me, I have enjoyed reading about what’s to come this whole time. And while I am jealous you are so close to being done, I am mostly jealous you are that much closer to a beer.

    • Hey, congrats! Hopefully those sweatpants will fit you through the better part of your pregnancy. =D
      I am probably not thinking straight right now, but I’m almost looking forward to running again more than drinking beer.

      No, I didn’t really say that.

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