Anybody out there ever eat so much pizza for dinner that when you go to put on your pajamas you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror mid-change and think you look about five months pregnant?
I spent a good three to five minutes last night alternating between staring at my stomach in horror and wondering if this is maybe the time it doesn't go back to normal by morning because I broke it or something and sticking it out a little further and rubbing it while waddling like I'm pregnant and then collapsing in a heap of giggles.
Then there's the whole decision you have to make about whether you should pull your elastic waist (thank god) pj pants up and over the food baby so that maybe you can forget it's there or just suck it up and let the pants sit under the bump as a reminder of your sins of cheese.
No? Just me?