Eight months.
Thirty-four weeks.
Just saying the words out loud made my heart race.
Eight months.
There was a tiny little boy stretching inside me, hiccupping at odd hours, kicking whenever Adrian spoke to him, and somehow managing to take up every bit of space my body had to offer.
I was enormous.
There was no polite way to describe it.
I couldn’t see my feet.
Putting on socks had become an Olympic event.
Getting out of bed required strategy.
Turning over at night required determination.
And if I dropped something on the floor…
Well…
It officially belonged to the floor until Adrian came home.
Yet somehow…
I had never felt more beautiful.
⸻
Our baby shower had been a month earlier.
I still smiled every time I looked at the photographs.
My mum had refused to let me lift a
