Another shit show of a week but in the form of a breast infection (mastitis). And yes, you can get this if you're a) pregnant and b) not breastfeeding. I've been anxious as fuck after learning the symptoms of mastitis are pretty much the same as inflammatory breast cancer (educate yourself about this type of breast cancer ladies, it doesn't involves lumps), THANKS DR GOOGLE, and what with the mental full moon this week it kind of tipped me over the edge. Crazy, anxious, psycho bitch pregnant woman over here... Anyway, I have antibiotics and have banned myself from the internet unless it's to look at shit maternity clothes or to read the showbiz gossip over at the Daily Mail (don't judge) and have found I'm spending less time on my phone (in general) which is nice.
So, twenty weeks! Half way there etc etc, providing this one doesn't do a Lil and turn up two weeks late. Sore boobs aside, I've been agitated this week (full moon LOLZ) and totally uninspired at dinner time which isn't normal for me. This means I haven't been eating that great although I'm having quite a bit of fruit and dreaming of bbq's (HURRY UP AND BUY A NEW BBQ, HUSBAND) with salads.
I'm still struggling with maternity wear, even after a ton of suggestions on Instagram. Apparently pregnant women have lobotomies at the point of conception therefore lose all sense of style (ASOS I'm looking at you). I shall spend my holiday wearing oversized kaftans, sulking in the shade (not really, I'll be letting it all hang out whilst stuffing my face and drinking gallons of w....ater).
The baby's kicks are getting harder every week and watching Lil's face light up when she feels one fills me with joy. Pretty sure she's going to be the best big sister.
I fell in the bathroom the other day, completely lost my balance, whacked my head on the radiator and landed on my front. The midwife wasn't concerned and I was told a couple of times that the baby may have turned, whatever happened it freaked me out so now I've clued Lil up on how to call for help if (god forbid) she needs it (which is also quite funny because she likes to disturb her dad at work countless times during the day talking absolute nonsense and then hanging up... must work on her telephone manner). Oh, pregnancy.
There isn't much else to say this week. No piles, no more stray hairs popping out from my chin (sexy), no disgusting wind (yet). I'm counting down until it's time to lay on the beach resembling a slightly smaller version of a whale. Which reminds me, if you have any great holiday book suggestions (I like dark and twisted, no chick flick nonsense) they'd be greatly appreciated.