I don’t have a pregnancy waddle, I have a pregnancy hobble. Oh, my hips…
Baby’s already kicking up a storm.
Happy birthday to me, too.
Being fined for throwing ciggie butts out a window I get, but for breastfeeding on the MRT? Have they heard a hungry baby kick off?! No mum is going to willingly whip a boob out to feed or calm a baby on the train, I can guarantee that — it’s a last resort. *shakes head*
Joni, al-Qaida and rich folks, oh my! The imaginative Republican response to the State of the Union: so nothing’s changed, then. Good to know the grown-ups are still a bunch of dickheads.
My sacroiliac joints already hurt. And I’m only half way. Oh dear.
Looking for work as a yard helper. All work considered, no jobs too small. Reasonable rates.
Yes, I’m kidding.
The bump only resembles the earlier one if I’m lying flat on my back. *sigh*
Me: Do you want to wear this dress?
(It’s a dress I bought for my niece that she has since outgrown and it’s been handed down.)
Anne: Yes! I like it! … it’s got flowers!
WHOSE CHILD IS THIS??!!