Because I feel bloated like a crouton left too long in soup.
I’m worried another sperm’s gonna slip up in there, and in 9 months, we’ll have twins.
There’s a smell somewhere in this house that I hate so I need to dedicate my day to finding it and killing it.
I’m so nauseous that I haven’t eaten anything today except a banana.
I’m so nauseous that I just threw up that banana.
I wanna watch Netflix instead.
Because I’m worried you’ll squish the baby and it’ll come out with a poked-in alien face.
I finally got my appetite back and now I want to spend all my time eating chocolate cake, ketchup, and ham.
If I don’t immediately eat chocolate cake, ketchup, and ham — or perhaps a ham sandwich with two pieces of chocolate cake as bread, smothered in ketchup — I’ll start crying.
I’ve started crying, and now I need to get mad when you ask what’s wrong.
The last time we tried to do it, stuff came out of my boob. I screamed, then you screamed, and now it’s weird.
I saw the baby’s face during the ultrasound and now I’ll know it’s watching.
Because I’m a human pumpkin.
I’m too busy trying to make a pizza with chocolate crust, topped with ketchup and wrapped in ham.
I’m really hungry.
I’m so full.
Now that I’m thinking about how full I am I’ve realized that I’m hungry again.
My belly button looks weird.
If my water breaks on your penis, I’ll scream, then you’ll scream, and I’ll never get over it.