Last night I dreamt my mother was pregnant.  My mother, at the grand old age of ANCIENT, was hugely pregnant and gloating about how much smaller she was through her pregnancy than me.  It’s a dream that has continued to disturb me throughout the day.  And probably always will. *shudder*

In other exceptionally mundane news: Today I finally admitted my size 10 jeans are too tight, and hauled my sorry ass into a comfortable, spacious 12.  Dear Gods.  I’m only touching upon the 15 week point and already I’m shedding sizes like a snake that’s over-indulged on too much hippo.  I’m not sure if it’s really a baby I have in there or a pair of conjoined taniwhas?  Or maybe (and most likely) it’s all the damn-it-I’m-now-30 comfort eating I’ve been doing since, like, two months ago (gotta start these celebrations early y’know).  Whatever.  I want to die.

Tomorrow I will go to Mitre10 and buy a tarpaulin.  Give me another month and I’ll be fitting it quite nicely.