The Human Whoopie Cushion

I am full of air.  It feels like air, at least.  It isn't offensive at all, but the sounds I have been making lately are all too embarrassing, considering I berate my husband about doing exactly the same thing on a regular basis.

I have an excuse, whereas he has none...except that he is a boy, and boys are, by nature, kind of gassy and stinky and unabashedly burpy.  

My excuse is far better, in my humble opinion.  I have a BABY sitting on my vital internal organs, and it's having a blast squishing everything around and making mom into a human whoopie cushion.  

Hilarity knows no bounds after a meal of chili mac and a fruit smoothie.