Taj Mahal tits

Bleurgh. I’ve been hit by a giant wave of pregnancy hormones since Monday evening. I’ve felt constantly on the cusp of uncontrollably sobbing or spontaneously punching a stranger in the back of the head (which you’ll be relieved to know is an urge I have not indulged). Today as I drudge to work in the rain, it feels quite similar to the aftermath of a break up when you’ve done all the crying and just feel drained and low and like nothing will ever be fun or good again. And I’m really, really physically tired to boot. I sincerely hope this phase passes soon and doesn’t signify how things will be in my third trimester – which, according to my American pregnancy app, I am now in, as of week 27 (there seems to be some disagreement over when the third trimester starts).

I have a heightened awareness of this altered emotional state, and I don’t trust any of my decisions or responses at the moment. I’m painstakingly crafting and re-reading my work emails so my irritation levels and the hatred of my fellow man can’t be detected through them.

Aside from the tidal hormone influx, everything is good. The baby is active so often, I have had to abandon the ‘activity log’ I was keeping as I’d be updating it all day. She kicked me in my rib this morning and it hurt and scared me a little. Physically, I am starting to feel cumbersome and unweildly, and I’ve developed that penguin waddle that heavily pregnant women have. In the second trimester I still felt feminine and sensual, but now I’m starting to feel like a lumbering, lethargic jacket potato with arms and legs, and have been avoiding catching sight of myself in the mirror. It’s not the bump that disturbs me, it’s the emergence of *shiver* back fat.

I went to Boots yesterday to pick up some practical things for the baby like nappies, and became overwhelmed by the sea of newborn paraphernalia. Hundreds of bottle options, sterilisers, nipple guard things. Things I didn’t know I needed or that existed. How does one choose a nipple protector? My impulse was to find a mirror and pose with them over my nipples in the store like a some kind of burlesque act sponsored by Mothercare, but I fought the urge. Some of them act as a milk catcher so you can collect errant milk and walk around with it sloshing about in your bra. Is this necessary? I remember a colleague emphatically recommending a brand of nipple guards and struggled to recall the brand name, but I’d glazed over quite early on in the conversation, so alas, the insight evaded me. After five minutes of staring at them all, wondering why some of them looked like parts for a transparent miniature replica of the Taj Mahal; and whether the shape was what was in store for my own nipples, I became upset due to delicate emotional state and fled from the shop. I will return when I am stronger, perhaps with Jake for decision-making support.

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