But all that has changed this week. First, there was that breakfast-for-dinner craving. It resulted in my demanding to go to the nearest breakfast place for chicken and waffles. Now, I'm a borderline foodie and pay lots of attention to what I eat, but rarely do I experience true joy when I'm eating. I can't emphasize enough how much I enjoyed my chicken and waffles. They were just that satisfying. I mean, I wanted to cry this was so good.
And then there are days like today, where I just feel like inhaling things: yogurt, pastries, cake, chips, hot chocolate, french fries, cardboard boxes. Steve speared a couple of bites of my chili today and I almost bit his head off for stealing my food, despite the fact that I'd just taken two bites of his hamburger. Nothing sates. I get irritable easily. I feel like Godzilla. You know, I really think he was a misunderstood creature. Maybe Godzilla was female, and she was pregnant.
Remember the "your baby is as big as a [insert fruit name here]" comparison pregnant people get each week? This week? She's as big as a rutabaga. I swear I'm being trolled by the giant pregnancy conglomeration.
You must be getting bigger, because my stomach has definitely got that bowling ball thing going on now. For the first time this week people straight up asked me if I was pregnant. (My favorite was a woman who gave me a sideways glance in the copy room and said, "There's a baby in there, right?")
You're kicking in weird places, too. I didn't know you'd literally kick my butt, or that you'd jump on my bladder this early. I like that you're taking possession of your space. This is a good thing, because from the moment you come out, the patriarchy will try to keep you in a box. Keep it up, girl.