Molly’s mind is a little sponge right now, and I feel kinda bad for the lessons I am accidentally teaching her about the way she should move her body.
The words “baby” and “belly” are pretty close, but she uses them interchangeably, presumably because she thinks everyone is supposed to have a baby in their tummy. She taps on her own and says, “baby!” all the time. This is unnerving.
The poor thing is very confused about my shrinking lap.
She used to plop down and there’d be plenty of room to spare for her pile of books. Now, she sits on the edge of my knees and sort of scoots back as far as she can, butting her little rump up against her sister over and over until she looks back at me confused. I can’t help ya, kid.
Then, there’s the grunting.
Every time I get up off the couch or bend over to pick something up, my flesh-covered basketball abdomen requires that I moan and groan like a retiree who’s forgotten to take arthritis medication. Molly has picked up on this, and I’m pretty sure she thinks that women are supposed to walk and move that way, and she grunts and moans around the house in a way that is more than sympathetic. It’s her normal!
The other day I think my ankle crushed under the weight of my body or something, so I’ve been limping a little on my right leg, and I’m sure she’ll catch on to that later this weekend.
Why did she have to start being so damn observant during the third trimester?!
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