Sometimes, I won’t be thinking about anything in particular and then it hits me: I’m going to have a baby. There are so many things I can’t do or eat. I can’t go on bumper car rides or sit in hot tubs. I can’t eat soft cheese or drink coffee and diet coke like I used to. I can’t eat sushi or sashimi! 🙁 There are funny restrictions, though. Like I shouldn’t look at the flying fish at Pike’s Place Market because my baby will come out flopping. And I should relinquish all hate I have, or else my baby will look like that person.
I’m saying goodbye to foods, but I’m saying hello to cleavage! I’m thinking of taking pictures of myself from the chest up, or depending on how fat my face becomes, my chest only.
I was most terrified of telling my mother. When I broke the news to her, she was the most sweet and comforting, telling me I would have a mu�eka, or doll.
A girl would be nice, but I just want a healthy baby. Ten fingers, ten toes, and if it’s a boy, two balls. That’s all.