We’ve seen the baby kick, people.
As I grow more and more rotund, my belly cushion is being stretched out to the point that Baby Dub’s most ferocious kicks are visible. To the naked eye.
In other words, my body is no longer my own.
I am renting my body out to a very demanding tenant.
She requires absolute quiet after 8 pm, but starts banging around at like, 5 in the morning. She demands that the place be stocked with gourmet flavors of ice cream, but does she ever go to the store to pick it up? Oh no.
Without my prior consent, she is expanding her living quarters exponentially, at the sacrifice of my belly, hips, thighs and upper arms (how am I getting fatter there, seriously?). She refuses to pay rent.
She’s been a total nightmare on the plumbing.
Sometimes I swear she’s going to kick right through the wall.
I just know that sometime soon – probably in the dead of night – she’s going to decide that her current accommodations aren’t adequate, and she’s going to ask to move in to our house full time.
This, like many landlord/tenant showdowns, is sure to result in screaming, swearing, and probably a little bloodshed.
She’s just so darn charming.
I guess I don’t mind if she wants to hang around for the next 18 years without paying rent.