Peanut is bouncing around right now, which is slightly out of the norm thus far since they seem to be more active at night (like their mother. Ha!) I'm still not used to this sensation, because it's like having a little alien parasite lightly knocking around my insides. I sort of want to rewatch all of the Alien flicks in homage, not to mention in preparation for this summer's Prometheus release, but horror flicks and I are not on the best of terms. I'm the chick screaming her bloody face off in the theater. At everything.
This week my belly has exploded, at least from my point of view. Well, maybe I exaggerate a bit because if I look straight down, my ginormous boobs still block the visual of my belly. Now I'm wondering if they block me seeing my feet...Holy shit, they do. Ahahahahahahahaha. I'm sure that's helped by the fact that 10 year olds have bigger feet than my dinky size 35's but still...
While we are on the subject, I am making full use of these sweater puppies while I can, especially seeing as the the current cleavage situation is out of control. For fuck's sake, the grocery store rent-a-cop followed me around the entire store other day and totally got in my way while I was in the produce section. Stop blocking my access to the zucchini, asshole.
Titty fucking, which is something I couldn't do with my boobs' prior configuration, is realllllllly easy right now, much to Mon Amour's delight. And when they become milk factories? Party tricks ahoy! I am going to hit bulls-eyes from across the room with these things. I can already hang lightweight items off my nipples...
Back to the exploding belly: um, yeah. Before I started showing, or rather when only my boobs were the major indicator of gestation, I had more than a few people say "Oh, but you're so tiny I bet you won't show until you're 8 months along." Um, no. That makes no logical sense. If I'm so tiny, where the fuck do you think this baby is going to hide, behind my spleen?!
As an ex-dancer, my weight has always yo-yo'ed throughout the years, but we've now gone over my heretofore upper limit. You don't want to know my reaction when I pulled on a pair of freshly laundered undies and immediately thought, "Oh shit. I must have washed that load on hot by accident."
Then I remembered I was pregnant. Waaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh, my ass is getting fat.
Like that wasn't a hyperventilation moment in and of itself, do we want to talk about the morning I pulled on the previous day's skinny stretch jeans and had to exert some slight force to close the button?
I guess it's time to start ordering the inappropriate maternity t-shirts. Candiates thus far are "None of your fucking business", "If I wanted your opinion, I'd give it to you", "Touch my belly and you'll lose a hand, asshole", "Beer belly" and "Daddy only wanted a blow-job" (thanks Sis!).
So with my undies giving me muffin tops and my boobs spilling out of my bras, Mon Amour took me shopping yesterday as a first out of the house excursion post-amnio. Considering I am not that fond of shopping to begin with and the fact that I am feeling like a fat cow especially after laying in bed for three days, this might not have been a great idea.
I got a few pairs of knickers in the next size up, and choose them based on the stretch factor of the fabric and elastic. I grabbed a bra in the next size up but didn't try it on in the store because the line for the dressing rooms was way long and I was already running out of patience. That might have been a mistake because it fits me now, but if these things get any bigger I'm fucked. I got my first maternity dress at H&M but I don't even want to talk about dressing room mirrors when you are pregnant & newly showing and thus have no fucking idea of what clothes to put on your body or how they will fit.
Alien baby bouncing around inside, and my body has a new mind and shape of its own. Bizarre doesn't even begin to describe it.
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