plus one day
Before I continue:
Dear internet,
I'm a still water than runs deep, deep like the ocean. My archives reflect this. This page does not. Pleae don't dismiss me as a a foul mouthed lush with an unhealthy obsession with her boobs before reading my previous entries. Thankyou.
signed,
the management
*wiping dust from hands*
Well then, that's done, and now, back to my unhealthy obsession....
I feel even less pregnant today than I did yesterday.
Yesterday was the fourth anniversary (weekiversary?) of When We Had Sex, and bugalugs is six weeks old and, according to those in the know, looks like ET.
What do you think?
Frankly, I don't think so. I think it looks more like a booger.
And were's my damn morning sickness? I want my damn morning sickness. Criminy. The only signs I have are the peeing which, between you and me? Is impressive. The pooping, eh, not so much so.
My boobs, which are also A Sign and who began screaming 'You're pregnant!' seconds after we shared our post coital cuddle four weeks ago, are not up for discussion today because they're scaring me.
On Friday though, when they were still up for discussion, I visited Lou at her lingerie store, to lament the exchange of my perky A cups for these humungous notsomuchfunbags, and also to ask her advice on what apparatus would best tame these beasts*.
The bad news was that, according to Lou, these puppies are gonna grow exponentially over the next few weeks, so her advice was to strap 'em to my chest and wait for them to reach the boobie equivilant of terminal velocity before throwing away money on scaffolding I'd grow out of in two hours. The good news was that another woman, Maria, who was waiting for her friend to complete her purchase of small wisps of delicate lace and satin that she herself could only dream of wearing because she was sixteen weeks pregnant with her second child and sporting even more impressive norks than I, overheard my whine and waddled over to talk reassuring pregnant talk with me.
It was really, really nice to feel that kinship with another, and it was also reassuring to talk to someone who, like me, prefers to view children from a safe distance and if posssible, through glass. Apparently, once you've given birth to one, children aren't so abhorrent. Well, they still are, but less so when they're your own.
Motherhood? Oh yeah, I'm going to be great at this.
*so not a typo.
Dear internet,
I'm a still water than runs deep, deep like the ocean. My archives reflect this. This page does not. Pleae don't dismiss me as a a foul mouthed lush with an unhealthy obsession with her boobs before reading my previous entries. Thankyou.
signed,
the management
*wiping dust from hands*
Well then, that's done, and now, back to my unhealthy obsession....
I feel even less pregnant today than I did yesterday.
Yesterday was the fourth anniversary (weekiversary?) of When We Had Sex, and bugalugs is six weeks old and, according to those in the know, looks like ET.
What do you think?
Frankly, I don't think so. I think it looks more like a booger.
And were's my damn morning sickness? I want my damn morning sickness. Criminy. The only signs I have are the peeing which, between you and me? Is impressive. The pooping, eh, not so much so.
My boobs, which are also A Sign and who began screaming 'You're pregnant!' seconds after we shared our post coital cuddle four weeks ago, are not up for discussion today because they're scaring me.
On Friday though, when they were still up for discussion, I visited Lou at her lingerie store, to lament the exchange of my perky A cups for these humungous notsomuchfunbags, and also to ask her advice on what apparatus would best tame these beasts*.
The bad news was that, according to Lou, these puppies are gonna grow exponentially over the next few weeks, so her advice was to strap 'em to my chest and wait for them to reach the boobie equivilant of terminal velocity before throwing away money on scaffolding I'd grow out of in two hours. The good news was that another woman, Maria, who was waiting for her friend to complete her purchase of small wisps of delicate lace and satin that she herself could only dream of wearing because she was sixteen weeks pregnant with her second child and sporting even more impressive norks than I, overheard my whine and waddled over to talk reassuring pregnant talk with me.
It was really, really nice to feel that kinship with another, and it was also reassuring to talk to someone who, like me, prefers to view children from a safe distance and if posssible, through glass. Apparently, once you've given birth to one, children aren't so abhorrent. Well, they still are, but less so when they're your own.
Motherhood? Oh yeah, I'm going to be great at this.
*so not a typo.
posted by aibee at 11:58
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