We'll file that one under 'things I'm going to pretend I didn't do'

At 23 weeks, going into a normal store to try on (absolutely divine) normal pants and thinking that they may fit. They didn't. Not even close. In my defence, I was after a slouchy man-pant and therefore thought they might possibly work on the basis of the slouchy-ness. Nuh-uh to infinity. It turns out that the bump extends a lot further than you'd (or, rather, apparently I'd) think (well, it's not like I can see anything other than the top of the great mountain is it? How am I supposed to know how far it goes? I can see crumbs and, weirdly, grease spots (where do they come from??) and that's about it). And it seems hips may be an issue down the track (or, you know, right now) as well. So, tops can be done, pants cannot.

This is probably what my OB was smirking about with Al (and seriously, I'm beginning to think that I'm not really that into husband-OB male bonding just quietly) when I queried at my last visit, (pretending to be) a bit worried that I wasn't putting on any weight even though kiddly was growing quickly, and he said, very unconcerned "Plenty of time for that". Apparently "plenty of time for that" roughly translates to "Ahhh ... First time Mums ... She doesn't realise that by the next time she's in this office she's going to have blown out like a blown-out thing in every direction possible, and the only thing she'll resemble is a whale, if you exclude the waddling, because whales don't waddle and she is SO going to be waddling". And the smirk to the husband apparently means in man-speak "You've been warned. It won't be pretty. Incidentally, have I warned you about pregnancy-hormones yet? Oh, you know already? Heavens. That's advanced.".

Since I'm here, I may as well add to my quotable quotes list too. The best by a country mile thus far came courtesy of my very politically incorrect slash extremely brave hairdresser.

Hairdresser's wife/salon manager "Wow! You're getting big!"

Hairdresser "I hope that's all baby because you know you'll have to lose the weight later.".

That's why I like my hairdresser. Aside from the (me) "I want to do this with my hair" (him) "No" conversations we have on a 6-8 weekly basis. It's a wonder he doesn't have more scissor stab wounds really.

(And actually yes, I do know, because Cuinn's beloved Uncle Stu suggested to the husband that he allow a six month leeway (I think it was) for me springing magically back to my pre-pregnancy weight (and now that I think about it, it might have been pre-pregnancy weight less 5kg ..? I just recall it being a tad on the ambitious side) ... and although I can't remember what the consequence of not achieving the six-month spring-back was, from memory it was a bit tragic for me. Hopefully the husband's memory is true to form and it escapes him as well. A number of things are lucky for beloved Uncle Stu - 1) I'm pretending he was joking 2) after ten years of pal-ship I'd have missed him (maybe) if I'd killed him 3) that would have only left Uncles Rich, Dave and Vaughan to teach Cuinn highly inappropriate things at far too young an age, and although they would have covered most things, 4 Uncles giving Mummy white hair is probably better than 3. Probably. 4) Aunty Sarah might have gotten grumpy if I disposed of Uncle Stu, and not wanted to go shopping any more and that would have been REALLY terrible. So, he lived another day. Just. And yes, damn me, I do know what my pre-pregnancy weight less 5kg is. Bollocks to that. Oh, and as for teaching kiddly highly inapprropriate things, I can't really point the finger too enthusiastically because he's going to learn all about swearing this weekend from Mummy (or at least, more than he already knows, which is probably a little bit much) because I'm getting my legs waxed. Should be interesting ... )