Sara tells me that she Homer Simpsoned a scale this morning. Her belly rested against something that gave the illusion of much lower weight, and every time she shifted, her poundage yo-yoed out of control.
I find it both hilarious and horrifying that her body has gone so far that she doesn't realize when she's touching something and when she isn't. I choose to find it hilarious because how can you not know that you're touching something. Horrifying because I'm not comfortable with reaching a point where my body is, quite literally, not my own. Elaborating on this would depress me, so I won't... much. I'll only say that one of the things that really turns me off about pregnancy is the objectification. Being reduced to a vessel. When was the last time an acquaintance asked Sara if she's read any good books lately?
The weather report for this Friday suggests that it will be too cool for an effective vodka-dousing. I've requested alternate drinking arrangements.
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