Lyfe Yo

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Hello, I am alive.

I'm in that weird stage where I have like hundreds of pictures to share but the weeks just keep rolling by and then I'm like "blogging? pshhh".  And those times that I do have every intention on getting on top of  it, I become stuck reading through my blogroll, or scrolling through tumblr, or stalking people via vine and wishing I actually knew how to be cool whilst being stupid simultaneously and suddenly talking about myself doesn't sound so very appealing anymore.  But lucky for you, I'm in the mood to talk about myself tonight!  Me me me!

So what about me.

Well, I discovered that I will be the best dressed pregnant lady you ever did see.  In the process of going through most every nice, dress-skirt-shirt combination in my closet I found like twelve or thirteen looks that I deemed BDPL.  Not because they are big or frumpy or what have you, but because I will look like a dang hot mamma when I have my little bump of joy whilst wearing said outfits.  Like top notch Taza style.  Maybe I'm only meant to be stylish when with child?  Maybe I'm really gonna need that motivation to want kids when my child draws on my car like my niece did on my sisters other day?   Who knows.  I do, however, know that l am torn.  Should I just get rid of my food belly so I can wear my cute clothes now?  Or do I continue to lovingly hold my stomach in the mirror instead?  Please tell me I'm not the only one who does this.  (I'm gonna regret this in the morning...)

In other news, I've been on a total Beyonce + Lauryn Hill kick.  But that's not anything new is it, at least not the Beyonce part.  I've learned that I'm that weird girl who cries during spin class whilst watching Tangled.  So what I'm trying to accept is that I'm total a white girl, minus the top knot and starbucks.  On that note, I'm trying to find someone to take the extra jar of nutella in my pantry post Riley's bachelorette party.  Because girls and nutella equals me and nutella which equals no self control when all I really want is an apple and a turkey sandwich.  I also want a normal sleep schedule...

But none of this really matters.  What does matter is that Coby continued to hold my hand even when I fell asleep in the car on the way home from Park City yesterday.  That he brought me flowers when I was feeling stressed about everything I had to do last weekend.  And that he rocks the scruff for me, for serious though.  (And that he is overall the kindest, most hopeful, most hard working, most gracious, etcetera etcetera).  He really has restored the idea of goodness in the male race, so that's cool n' stuff.

Blogging, I've missed you.  I'm going to be catching up on the picture part and probably the sappy love writing part around here, so don't get too bothered!

I hope your lives are wonderful because the world is good, God is good.  Be happy.

p.s. GATSBY. YOU GUYS.