These days I'm consumed with the fact that my bra hurts if I wear it for more than, OHHHH, 1 minute let alone the 10 hours a day I am required by fashion law to abide by. Or if we're really getting down to the nitty gritty details of what has become my life I should confess that sometimes (read: pretty much every day) I take my shirt off only to see crumbles of my after lunch snack tumbling down my big
Mr. Bear might tell you what a delight I am to live with and how he really loves me more every day, and I agree that it's sweet, but unfortunately it's one big fat lie. I complain and whine and expect him to fix everything. I get tired just in time to skip out on dish duty and cleaning the toilet makes me sick (not a side effect of pregnancy fyi just regular life with me), I hog the covers, snore, sleep in a fortress of solitude, half fall in the shower leaving him to worry about my capability of walking without him standing behind to hold me up, and I gain 40 lbs so seeing me naked is no longer an enjoyable event. Also, I can't even reach into the washer so he had to change my laundry for me which is the worst part! But, on the bright side, my boobs have maintained their ginormous status and are likely to do so for some time to come, so I may be fat but if all else fails he can just look at my cleavage and know there is still an upside to this life with me.
In reality we are both really really looking forward to the day that the lump between our hugs is an actual fleshy child and not just a lump of hard belly. Things are bound to change but being able to snuggle, among other things, in comfort is one I will never take for granted again!