This week has been a week of curbing my unhealthy cravings. While at the clinic for our detailed scan, I discovered that I had piled on 3kg in six weeks. The horror! The nugget takes up all of 500g so hmm. I’m pretty sure the rest of it went into his personal swimming pool AKA the amniotic waters and the BOOBS.
Oh yeah, let’s talk about BOOBS. I actually have BOOBS. Mr Thick took a close look at them one morning in the bathroom and went WAH. If I could shove my boobs into the face of every arsehole who had laughed at my A-cup (or AAA-cup, goes the joke, HAR HAR HAR) chest, it would make me a very happy person indeed. Vindictive, me? NOOOO.
HOWEVER. I have to say that big(ger) boobs are not terribly fun. Whenever I run for the bus, I have to cross my arms under my boobs because these gloriously rounded babies HURT LIKE A BITCH when they bounce around. And I look like a porn star with my girls POPPING! OUT! to say hello when I wear tops or dresses that used to fit me like a glove.
The nugget’s moves have become more and more distinct. Every night and every morning, I love to talk to him and feel him wriggle, squirm and somersault. My little man is a morning person, so terribly unlike his night owl parents. He bounces up and down a lot more in the day than at night, which suits me just fine.
I can’t wait to meet him.
Yannisms 