Literally no strangers have touched my tummy. None.
I mean, I touch it all the time. 37 weeks
I get tons of questions and comments and so far, 15 total strangers have correctly identified the gender of my baby based solely on the basketball-like nature of my bump.
But unapproved palms on my protrusion? Zero.
I'm going to chalk this up to a rockin' case of Resting Bitch Face and thank my luck stars.
Literally resting bitch face at 37 weeks
II.
My new theme song:
Cankle In The Wind
Goodbye, normal jeans
Though I seldom wore you at all
I had the choice to don myself
In whatever in my closet called
Platforms and tailored trousers
Heels, they whisper into my brain
They set me down a spiral
And I prop up my feet in shame
Cankle camouflage at 36 weeks
And it seems to me, I'm living life
Like a cankle in the wind
Never knowing what to put on
Over swollen skin
And I would have liked to look cute
But I'm making a kid
My cankles bum me out
More than heartburn ever did
Be-cankled kitty kisses at 36 weeks
III.
The other day, the handle on my awesome pink water bottle snapped, and it crashed to the floor of my office.
What did I yell?
"Oh shit! My water broke!"
Pro Tip: Do not text this story to your husband. He will not think it's funny.
Fortunately, my boss saw the whole thing and squelched the alarm before my coworkers could bring out the tarps.
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