This past week was a magical week, where my belly ‘popped’ a
lot more and strangers could finally tell that I was pregnant. Possibly due to
the number of times we ate out this week, more than anything else. Regardless,
I’ll take it. At least I feel like I can wear form-fitting shirts again and
look cute and pregnant. Until now, I mostly felt I was diligently working on a
beer belly, which was not exactly confidence inspiring.
Besides belly, nothing new to report on the pregnancy front.
Still nauseated and have to pee about 400% more than usual, but haven’t had any
other new or exciting symptoms like back pain or sciatica. Also, no food
cravings, but pretty excited that it is now pear season because I love pears SO
MUCH. I actually have a problem bringing myself to eat them after I buy them because I don’t
want to “waste” them. It’s a sickness, really.
Given my obsession with fruit, I should probably live
somewhere other than Alaska, since nothing actually grows here except some
gnarly crabapples that are not fit for human consumption. At least, not humans you like very much. I remember visiting
California for the first time in my youth and thinking something along the lines
of, “Whoa whoa, you mean fruit really grows on trees? What kind of sorcery is
this?” And then I continued to suck my thumb, which eventually led my
mom to buy several luxury vehicles for my orthodontist.
And yes, according to my iPhone pregnancy app, baby was the
size of a papaya this week. I think I’ve gestated an entire fruit salad by now. I suppose I'm still working on the melon component. Wince.
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