Are you there?
It’s me, Monica.
I’m still over here growing a human and stuff.
I have reached that point when all my old, billowy sundresses are now shirts… that are too small.
I am cycling between three pairs of pants, one of which is featured in the photo above.
Wearing a bra is a laughable concept.
I waddle when I walk.
I spend a lot of time feeling like I’m sitting on my own lap — which, technically, I am.
If I laugh very hard it ends in wheezing… and maybe peeing.
I have to stop and catch my breath halfway up the stairs.
I constantly have heartburn so bad it feels like I’m tasting food I ate last week. WATER gives me heartburn.
I require no less than eight pillows to sleep at night… And I use the term “sleep” loosely.
I crouch down to pick up toys and can’t stand up again without rolling onto my knees and hoisting myself up with an assist from nearby furniture.
I only feel clean when I’m actually in the shower.
I cried three times yesterday and I’m not sure why but I think one time involved a grape dropped on the kitchen floor.
At least once a day I realize I have become lost in the thought that a human child will soon make its way out of my lady parts and I can’t wait to meet him and everything BUT OH MY GOD HOW IS ALL THAT GOING TO COME OUT OF THIS?! SHOULDERS ARE GOING TO USE MY PARTS AS AN EXIT RAMP. SHOULDERS.
I spend a significant amount of time wondering what my rack will look like when all is said and done and it no longer has my stomach to rest atop.
I Photoshopped the above photo so you couldn’t see the nipples gaining territory on my boobs like Sherman’s March across Georgia. And, also, for the love of god, let me have Photoshop with this photo — I’m 170 pounds, leaking from various places, crying at grapes and need a lift wherever I can get it. This time it was red lipstick and Photoshop SO BACK OFF.
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