I have been feeling fat a good deal of the time lately.  I look longingly at my zipper jeans in the closet and slowly move on the the maternity jeans with the stretchy waistband.  In just a few years maternity clothing has improved, but frankly I don’t feel like nor do I have the means to go spend on a whole new wardrobe when frankly it’s quite a short time period.  My breasts on the other hand have zoomed though the alphabet faster and sooner than I remember it happening the first time.  Do you have any idea how weird it is to go to bed with one cup size, then wake up a full cupsize and a half larger almost over night without any surgical options or $29.99 solutions?

So I waddle around feeling fat, wearing heels when I must and cursing them and myself at the end of the day for the strain on my body they didn’t use to cause.  Even though I know better I would wonder occassionally if I really was pregnant, if this wasn’t just an AE attack gone horridably bizzarely wrong.  Then there was movement, and if I’d had the energy I would have gone leaping across the room in some Elaine-typeish (from Seinfeld) dance.