The scale is a depressing place to be these days. My breasts have reached the ungodly size of E, which probably stands for ENORMOUS. I didn't even know they made sizes E for bras. In pictures I look like I am on 3D and no photoshop will fix this balloon version of Mariana.
I keep telling myself that "it's all baby" but this baby better be 8lbs already, because that's what the scale keeps telling me I have gained.
I swear my baby has grown from one day to the next. Up until month five I just looked like I ate one too many cookies, but as I approach month six, I woke up one day, looked down and could no longer see my feet, but the toes.
And the mirrors... why, oh why did we buy a house full of them? Our bedroom closets' doors are mirrors and when I wake up in the morning there is a chipmunk, swollen face looking back at me. What a terrible decorative idea to put so many mirrors in a bedroom. A man definitely came up with that. No woman wants to look at herself first thing in the morning, especially with so many lights coming from unflattering angles, and especially when you are carrying a child in a five foot tall body.
I still don't understand men, as a matter of fact. I still get hit on in traffic by guys in their cars. I never understood that, even before pregnancy. What do they think we will do? Roll down the window and blow them kisses? Flash our boobs? Follow them and give them our phone numbers? WTF?
Of course the same guys' smiles die when I come out of my car, so I know I definitely look pregnant.
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