Whoomp! There it is — my 22-week bump that blossomed from post-Papa John’s bloat into WHOA, MAMA! seemingly overnight. Suddenly none of my clothes are comfortable; the feel of any material on my expanding body makes me shift irritably, much like I do whenever I see the Kardashian sisters on the cover of Us Weekly AGAIN.
Just not a great feeling.
On the bright side, my stomach now doubles as a convenient and sizable pillow for Skye whenever she is overcome with a burst of love for her mom or is crashing from a mango ice cream high. Not that we, um, feed her ice cream all the time. *Ahem* Not for EVERY meal, at least. Which explains why we have matching Buddha bellies.