Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Dear Diary,

I'm done. I think I've been a good sport. With the bloating, the fat clothes, the inability to wear any shoes but my smelly flip flops, the frequent urination, still I joked. I lost my summer, I've gained stretch marks. I can no longer walk and my usual jovial nature has turned into a bitter black spiralling hole of anger.

I've given up the beer I oh so love, I've passed up on the cheese I like and even look like a crazy person when ordering cold cuts and ask it be microwaved for 20 seconds to rid lunch of parasites. I have read books, magazine articles, reviews for everything that has been purchased for the baby and followed all the rules to the T.

In return I am 10 days late, and counting. I can't breathe, I can't walk and I have no more clothes that fit. I am met with sad eyes each time I see someone. In walking to the other side of the hall at work the entire floor of people turned their head and stared at me in disbelief as if they were witnessing a myth- the lockness monster or Yeti in their view- almost to stand up and yell "it's true you do exist."

I am a strong person, I have always believed, however each day that passes I loose yet another piece of myself. I go the doctors office- with a cheery disposition and new doctors that meet us say "Ooh boy ya'll are fun! I hope I get to deliver your baby." I just hope there is a baby after all of this and someone gets delivered because if it turns out after a second opinion (which I am seriously considering having) I found out I just got super fat this summer I'm going to pissed.


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