On days like today I feel I might be in denial a little bit.
On days like today, Timothy pushes me out of bed limb by limb after another 4am wake-up call (thanks, TJ!). I can only find one top that fits, and it makes me look like an elephant wrapped becomingly in a circus tent. I spend all morning at work in such a state of seething agitation that I give myself heartburn; TJ flutters anxiously against my insides. After lunch – quite a small one – I am uncomfortably full and straining all the buttons that hold me in. I am still seething. I am so thirsty I drink water all afternoon without being able to stop myself. My stomach pushes out so far that, sat in my office chair bending over some proofs, my ribs are resting on something important and a dull ache starts to spread out underneath them. Displaced by my bladder, TJ finds himself some virgin muscle wall to kick and hammers the heck out of it for an hour or so. I go to the loo for the fourth time to give him more space. After an hour in traffic, I am so tired that climbing the stairs to the living room feels like a major haulage operation. Dinner over, I take off all of my clothes that involve fastenings and lie still on the bed. My belly is a monstrous, inflated balloon. The skin pulls so hard that it groans in every direction. I am the heaviest person on earth. The sheer weight of me drags into the mattress. And I think: I cannot possibly get any larger.
Au contraire, says Science: check this out.
See that purple line? That’s TJ’s weight gain over the course of 40 weeks. Increases very quickly, all of a sudden, doesn’t it? (My Science knowledge of yore would like me to know that this is ‘exponential’ growth. I am impressed.) Oh, and see that red arrow? That’s where I am right now.
In other words, ladies and gentleman of the jury, and most especially my poor, over-stretched stomach skin: we ain’t seen nothing yet. Get the belly cream out again. No, not the stuff that smells like feet. The other stuff.