First off, thanks to everyone who said something nice yesterday and on Monday—I’m pretty sick, which is I think a good sign for the viability of the creature, which is (according to the internet) now the size of a raspberry. This is kind of terrifying, and Mr. Book has had to give me a couple of “You will be a good mom” pep talks already. I guess we’ll see.
I’m going to talk about my body a bit, so if you’re not into that, consider yourself warned.
I’ve never liked having big breasts, at least in part because I got them in fourth grade, long before that kind of thing seemed appropriate. During puberty, I got stretch marks all over my body: hips, breasts, and even in the middle of my back. Well, they’ve been hurting a lot for the last few weeks, and yesterday I finally realized that they’re bigger. (Mr. Book confirms this . . . and laughed at me!) I also have new stretch marks thereupon. And I’m already producing colostrum, which seems to me super premature. Booo. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—the boob faerie came to call last time as well—in day 1 pictures of me and Cricket, he is dwarfed by whichever breast he rests on. And he wasn’t a small baby. Guess I need some new bras….