I recall how, back in the sad days before I was a glorious fetus-bearer, I used to revel in the massive asses of pregnant women. It was about all there WAS to revel in, since their whining and complaining made me want to stab them, and was thus not a good source of Schadenfreude. I can't promise that my ass is particularly huge yet, BUT I thought you might draw some comfort from the fact that I have become a person who drools.
I wish I could tell you that it's constant and I'm like a stroke victim, but it's only when I'm sleeping. And it's because I've got a particularly unrelenting case of rhinitis of pregnancy. Did you know that was a thing? It totally is. Its name should be Exploding Snot Head of Pregnancy, 'cause that's more accurate. After fifteen weeks of this shit, I'm amazed I haven't sneezed Bun Bun to death. Anyway, I'm now a mouth breather, and that means that when I'm asleep, I generate a big puddle of slobber. Yes, when I wake up, I have to wipe my face. I hope that makes you smile.
Meanwhile, I had another OB appointment this morning. I'm amazed at the extent to which I can generate serious anxiety in just a few days. I mean: fetus alive on Thursday. Probability that fetus will be alive on Monday = high. Probability that fetus will be alive = high in general. But I became convinced that the hot bath I'd taken on Saturday had killed my baby and the round ligament pain I was feeling was the precursor to a wonderful stillbirth experience. Probably not, as it turns out. I suppose this phase of feeling movement only every few days is a tough phase. (Maybe not quite as tough as experiencing six losses in a row or a failed donor egg cycle or an incompatible with life diagnosis or endless cycles of nothing at all, but who can say. Ha. That was me being funny. You can tell because you were laughing super hard.) I guess there's just something about the reality-check nature of these appointments that makes it impossible not to fear them. Anyway, four more weeks of, Deo volente, not being freaked out.