I feel like----

Poop. Amongst other things. I am tired and I am cranky and I just want to reach inside my stomach and empty it out with my hands because there must be some way to alleviate the urge I have to eat and vomit at the same time. I'm looking good these days, too. I have the red burst blood vessels all around my eyes and forehead. Again I am convinced that I could never be a closet Bulimic, as I always look thirty years older when I'm in this phase of pregnancy. (With severe adult acne, unless you look close enough, and realize they are red splotches of traumatized skin). And then I start to look like a man as my nose starts to swell and I gain weight everywhere, not just in the belly bulge that those little whores-who've-never-had-children at Motherhood will tell you. Obviously it's all a question of why I don't love having a bun in the oven.
I've also embraced Pregnancy Bitchiness. Ah, ten months of constant PMS. Is it any question why Jeff is always hesitant to go through this? Yeah, I have to deal with the physical and emotional part, but I believe in giving my husband the full experience. I mean, this is hard for me. I have to let him know just how hard it is, or perhaps he'll make a joke that I couldn't handle, and then I'd have to kick him wherever my tubby legs could make contact. Or stab him. It would just be cruel and unfair to keep how truly traumatic an occurence this is from him. So here's some friendly advice: the next time you see me, try to refrain from comments like, "Oh, you're starting to show", or "hey, you look tired". Because guess what? I am already well aware of this. And when I hear it again and again, it just pisses me off. All my love.