Fine, thanks!

When I see people on the street or in the halls at work and am asked, "How are you?" I always, always answer with a chipper, "Fine, thanks!"

I say, "Fine, thanks!" regardless of if I really am or not, because, let's be honest, "Fine, thanks" is all people really want to hear.

I've probably said it to some of you recently too.

I really am fine. Feeling fine. Getting along just fine. But this third-trimester pregnancy thing is becoming kind of a pain in the butt (an enormous one at that) and for once, I'd like to NOT respond with a "Fine, thanks" and instead cock off with one of these:

"How are you?"

"Well, to be perfectly honest, a little less than fine. I'm a little up to *here* waddling around like a whale with my thighs rubbing together and all. This ginormous belly, which don't get me wrong, currently houses one of God's dearest blessings, is huge, itchy, heavy and makes my back ache. And these boobs. Don't even get me started on these boobs. They're huge and heavy and weird looking. They totally feel like they belong to someone else. I hate lugging them around all day long and cannot fathom why women pay big bucks to artificially inflate their racks to elephantine proportions. Trust me, ladies. Big boobs are not all they're cracked up to be. And my legs! They look like tree trunks. Full of nicks and scratches from trying to shave them left handed because I can't reach around this huge belly. And my toes? They look like plump little sausages - at least I think they do, because I can barely see them beyond this big-ass belly! I can't sleep, I can't hardly breathe and I can't stand anything tight or remotely constricting on my body. I wish I could ride out these last several weeks at home, in my comfy clothes, on my couch, all alone. So... How are you?"

OK, phew. That felt good. Just had to get it all off my chest - this ridonkulously huge, utterly gigantic chest.

I'm better now. Really.

I'm fine.