24 Weeks: Stosh-style

This entry is several days late.  Why could that be, when I am so fond of baring my belly and posting it for the world to see on the internets...oh yes that is right I feel like shit on a shingle.  How could I forget?

Stosh, ever courteous, is determined to make this pregnancy the most miserable, horrible, all-around godawful nine months of my liiiiife, in order to prevent me from being sad and pining for another pregnancy when we are, in fact, DONE, upon his arrival (as I am absolutely the type to ignore the fact that pregnancies result in babies- who often don't sleep, in our case, who ultimately become children, and find myself longing for just one more chance.)  He has fully ensured THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN.  I am not glowing or blissful or any of that crap.  I am a hot mess.  My hair continues to fall out and my skin is breaking out and I have restless legs and insomnia and horrible nightmares and reflux-y heartburn and STILL, good CHRIST, with the nausea, and I can barely sit without getting winded, much less run, the ONE THING that often clears my mind and makes me feel human, and I cannot seem to stop eating in spite of the aforementioned troublesome symptoms and you know....yeah.  Whine whine whine.  I KNOW, OKAY?  I know.

(I'mstillfuckingmiserable.)

Wanna see how enormous I am this time?  because I am entirely enormous.

Stosh: he is big.  please God, let him be big....

Gracie: she was reasonably big...ok...

Katie: oh my hell, look at THAT.  ...though she was admittedly petite...

Why did I carry  my first baby the lowest of all my pregnancies?  Isn't that weird?  Though it is good to see the comparison between all three, because it reminds me that Katie was very misleading as a comparison- the wee baby whose lack of growth inspired multiple extra ultrasounds.  And, for the record, the baby whose weight gain clung to me like a barnacle on the rudder of the Titanic. So that is also reassuring.

Whatever, I have to take it where I can find it.  Now if you'll excuse me, I need to writhe around in bed and complain about how horrible I feel and how I can't sleep.  It's all very fascinating.  My husband is a lucky, lucky man.