This little offspring of mine kicks like a BOSS.
(No jokes about growing a champion footballer, please; let’s face it, if genetics have anything to do with it at all, he’s probably exercising his mouse-clicking finger.)
We went for a walk today to work off the internal wriggles. The heat and sunshine are delicious, though I’m much more thin-skinned than I used to be. Any old UV light feels like sunburn. I’m a little squeamish about developing the ominous-sounding Mask of Pregnancy (must be said in ringing, doom-laden tones), so I think I need to invest in some sunblock, sharpish.
Milton isn’t very big, but I still get lost quite a lot. Today I came across this:
Doesn’t that look delightful? Is there even any possibility that there wouldn’t be a secret garden at the other end? I love cemeteries. So I went in. Unfortunately the long, hedge-lined path was a little animal graveyard in its own right, and after I’d stepped over a dead mouse, a dead rabbit and a dead something-or-other that was mostly internal organs, I was much less enamoured with the business than I had been. But it was quite pretty at the other end.
There was an old lady going around tending the graves in the hot sun, and I kind of loved her for it.
I got halfway back to work before I realised I’d left my cardigan at the cemetery, so had to run back for it, and arrived at work rather out of breath. And TJ still kicked me all afternoon. It’s the loveliest thing to have such an active baby.
Holy moly, I looked pregnant today. I keep having to remind myself that I don’t have to suck it in. I feel terribly conspicuous in the office, though.