I can't breathe. Sleep. Eat. Walk. Bend. Or even git it on properly at this point.
The gift of gestation is a mysterious one indeed. It blows, my man. It's fucking hard. Even the most blessedly blissed out mamas wake up with a mouth full of almost digested food every once in a while. But we keep. On. Doing. It. Did I mention that it hurts to push the thing out, too? It does. Can't leave that part out.
But here I sit; swoled up like a bloated kaiser roll languishing in a still puddle, and I'm happy.
That is, until I leave my house, my haven, my family and go out into the world and see OTHER PEOPLE.
Here's a tip humanity: I KNOW I'M BIG. I know I look like I'm about to "drop that thing". I know my boobs are huge and my smile is infrequent. I know. Your reminders make me want to put on some lipstick and go pit-bull on your ass, k?
Oh, and no you can't touch. Peace.