…according to my OB’s tape measure. I’m only 37 weeks pregnant. So…
I dedicate this song to myself, just because of the last verse:
I, too, am losing my mind. I’ve retained so much water that my abdominal muscles are threatening to rupture.
For some reason, my mom finds that last video incredibly offensive.
I can’t even stand to do dishes anymore, because if my belly touches the counter it’s like a million electric needles being curb stomped into my skin by a sadistic acupuncturist. Speaking of doing dishes…haven’t done them in a week. My kitchen smells like:
My husband assures me that it’s just my supersonic sense of smell, and that nothing in our house smells that bad. Not even our own – actual – shit. I sense that he’s just trying to keep me (and thus, himself) from coming to this:
My fingers look like this (and I apologize in advance for this one):
And my calves and ankles have fused together into this:
If I make it to the 22nd, which is when I have my C section scheduled, I will have escaped pregnancy with at least one (very important) part of my body not annihilated by the process of doing this:
And, in case that wasn’t explicit enough, this is why I want the C section: