Hubby drops to #2 on the list of people drooling at the sight of your breasts. Store clerks don't look at you so funny when you buy your regular weekly supply of diapers.
Finally, someone you can beat at "Got Your Nose," at least for a year or so.
You develop a liking for minivans, sensible shoes, and a deep-seated contempt for Michael Jackson.
You're not so tolerant of strangers asking to touch your round little belly anymore now that you're just FAT.
Goodbye, Happy Hour -- Hello, Happy Meal!
Can't leave the AK-47s under the couch anymore.
No longer get arrested for whipping out your breast on the subway.
The realization that caca comes in a rainbow of lovely colors.
Well, there goes the pet dingo.
Cases of Bud Light quickly replaced by cases of Butt Wipes.
Bundle of joy, my ass. Just another ingrate to buy cigarettes for.
Junior looks adorable in his little "sandbox," but the cat is seriously torqued about it.
Mama cuts back to a sixer a day now that she's only "drinkin' fer one."
For efficiency, your paycheck now direct-deposited to Disney.
The closest you come to orgasm is when you think of sleep.