Well, it’s not really YOU that is making me feel as though my stomach is inside out and able to do somersaults like an assassin. It’s due to a grievous creation called hormones.
First lesson in sex ed of many to come: hormones are these wonderful things that can help create the beauty of life while also making the host beg for mercy like one being pelted by studded bowling balls.
So you and I, we’re tight, we’re all good. Let’s just chalk this one up to “momma’s got issues and baby’s in for a ride”.
Here’s the abbreviated not-so-skinny:
We just finished week 18, where you were the size of a mango.
Momma’s confession: I need to spend more time in the produce aisle, for I have no idea what a full mango looks like.
• Time in the oven: 18wks
• cravings: nothing other than potatoes, peanut buster parfait w/o peanuts, Tabasco sauce, diet Dr Pepper, and macaroni & cheese. Not all at once…most of the time (And I’ve only given into the Tabasco sauce & potatoes this week. I’ve determined not to be a high-maintenance preggodrama mamma and refuse to make your daddy run to the store for my latest whim).
• aversions: fast food signs – the mere sight of those overly colorful electric waste of space icons make me want to open a can of whoop-nast on their trash. P.s…I barfed at a Wendy’s this week. Nuff said.
• added inches to the precious waistline: still at 9.5″ and still no [new] stretch marks. Yay momma.
Well, that’s where we are…or were. I was a bit too preoccupied w/ my week of vomitous proportions that I didn’t post this real-time…it’s postdated for the sake of making me feel more productive than I am. Personal delusions aren’t always delusions; they can be covert statements of generalities. Maybe.
Love you and see you soon!