So I am 32 weeks, or 8 months for those of you too lazy to do the math. On a daily basis I hear, “WOW! You are EIGHT months? You must be having a boy! You’re so small! Are you sure you’re 8 months?!” Shut up, shut up, shut up.
I can’t eat without acid melting my esophagus, I woke up 4 times to pee last night and consider it a good night, my body aches and I want to punch everyone I see drinking wine. I AM DEFINITELY 8 MONTHS PREGNANT.
But do you know what that means? It means I still have TWO MONTHS of pregnancy left. Two doesn’t sound like a lot to you, does it? Well you aren’t currently housing a spider monkey in your uterus.
All of the talk about lanugo and cottage cheese and this is honestly how I somtimes picture my child.
I at least know she’s got the face down…
Don’t worry honey, it won’t be the last time I embarress you.
So today, I am an 8-months-pregnant-cow in a pink dress, and no amount of “You look so cute!” squeals will convince me other wise. Ok, maybe they might.