Six months pregnant hit me like a brick fucking wall.
My hips ache, my back aches, I keep falling asleep while reading to my kid, and the baby is already kicking so hard John can feel her. I can see every vein in my boobs (size E?! Jesus!) and my hands, and am starting to see some in my arms. My hair looks very close to what I'd call "fried poodle" probably because I haven't had the energy to redo the purple lately.
Despite all this, I am one happy lady.
The hormones must have finally kicked in full force. I'm not having panic attacks (KNOCK ON WOOD) I'm laid back, I'm coasting right along. The baby kicks are awesome! I miss those after birth. I'm sleeping a lot better, and food is mostly good. Kid's got a sweet tooth. My brain is on hiatus most of the time, however, but that isn't bothering me a lot. It's hard to think for more than 30 seconds on anything serious, but hell, there will be time for that later, right?
Well, I'm off to shower. It's almost 2 in the afternoon, and I'm in all my PJ'd glory, and John's friends will be here any minute. Don't care! I'm looking at it like a before and after show for them. Before: me in all my pregnant disheveled glory. After: me in all my clean pregnant glory.
Then I'll take a nap.