a title eludes me

As time passes, more people at work are finding out I'm pregnant. It was hard saying nothing during my Chase The Mailman Down The Street To Tell Him My News phase, which I'm out of now, almost, but now I'm into my glowing madonna Guess What? I Have A Secret - And I'm Gonna Tell You What It Is Right Now! phase (which hardly makes it a secret, but it caters to my guilt. Yep, I've still got this ridculous guilt thing about telling people. If I was going to be petty and victimised, I'd blame the guilt factor on the father's reticence to have my pregnancy recognised, and his 'you're blabbing to everyone' comment probably didn't help either, but I'm not petty and victimised, so I won't. Ahem) so my pregnancy belongs to everyone, tra la.

As do my norks.

As I work and train in a gym, my standard attire is skimpy tank tops and singlets - not because I'm a harlot, mind, but because the dumbfuck bosses won't fix the damn airconditioning and I would DIE out there is I wasn't half naked. Anyway, what with the itty bitty tops, and the spilling out over the top of three (three!) bras, my boobs are kind of hard to miss. And anyway, I'm all about 'Fine thanks, and cop these!' when someone asks how I'm feeling.

What was once a pair of neat A cups transformed overnight into a pair of absolute bazookas. I just peaked down my t-shirt, and I'd say we're now looking at a set of modest C cups - and this is where it gets interesting. They're still perky. Yessiree, I have the ta-tas of a teenager, the nips of a nubile, and the bodacious boobs of a babe. It's a pity I'm not really that into these whoppers, because they really are quite spectacular.

And just so today's entire entry isn't all about my chest, we got our first ever and as a cute as fuck onsie the other day, from one of my clients. She also became a grandmother for the fifth time last week, so congratulations Roslyn, and welcome to the world, Christopher Michael. *waves*