I used this exact same blog title a little less than 11 months ago. And man, the feelings attached to this post are so different from the last one. Except I'm still singing Bon Jovi I'm just doing it in my own house. And I'm doing it louder. And more often. Because I can.
Friday marked mine and mini-me's halfway point on this lovely journey of cohabitating in my body. Too weird?
Things have been going pretty well lately. I might have to quit my yoga class, though. My belly has blossomed enough in the past couple weeks that lunges require a very wide stance, twists are not happening, and lowering myself down from plank is even more laughable than before. I'm still dominating corpse pose, though. So I did what any reasonable person would: I looked up pre-natal yoga classes around town then decided to bite the bullet and commit to a $10 DVD instead of $16 a class. And now I can do my beached whale impression in the comfort of my own living room.
It's weird how quickly bodily changes happen. Leaning over and changing my shoes under my desk is a lot harder than it used to be. I I might need to request a co-op student to help me with that before too long.
Depending what I wear, I still look like I just pigged out at Christmas. The baby's sitting so low compared to every other pregnant person I see that sometimes I wonder if my affinity for chocolate chip cookies is really what's making my pants not fit and the baby's hiding in my thighs or something. Except maybe not my thighs, because my pants can still go up but some of my jackets don't button up anymore and it's not because of my belly, if you catch my drift. And maybe it's not just cookies, unless those cookies are giving me the occasional itty bitty karate chop to the uterus.
People are always so fascinated with my eating habits and want to know if I've had any cravings. Not really, unless you count my usual insatiable appetite for burgers, chocolate chip cookies, and a YEARNING for tzatziki. Okay, that last one is a craving. It is so hard to find goat yogurt in this city that I left the grocery store in a deep depression when I couldn't get any last week. No joke. I had to go home and watch two episodes of Downton Abbey to get over it.
It's okay, I compensated by drinking three litres of goat milk since Friday night.
As for things I can't eat? I'll let you know when you're eating it. The worst thing in the world right now, though, is my heat bag. It smells like grain and makes me want to vomit everything I've ever eaten.
And I shall leave you with a dusty mirror selfie of my inner child and I.
Until next time.