Somebody call a waaaaambulance

I'm not having a good pregnancy day. And because this is my blog, I'm going to gripe about it here. And if that is going to bother you, then you are free to leave and head over to something more pleasant, like this terrible site filled with adorable fluffy kittens: http://thedailykitten.com/

Hannah is now a butternut squash. Meaning: I have a butternut squash in my stomach. A butternut squash is not small. It looks like this:

Butternut oxygen stealer

The butternut squash, also known as a butternut pumpkin (a pumpkin, for the love of...), is a large winter squash that does not fit whole in small spaces, like stomachs. Therefore, the stomach, when displaced by objects the size of butternut squashes, does things like expand and hate you. Your stomach actually hates you. And it retaliates in hatred by smooshing other innards, like your lungs, which normally help you breathe, but instead they squish up too (because they are being squashed) and then you cannot inhale. You try, but you can't.

Here's what it looks like when your squashed stomach plumps up like a pumpkin and combats your clothing:

Dear God...

Nope, that's not a beer gut. That's a small child the size of a butternut squash residing all fetus-y in my stomach, forcing my non-maternity tank top to rethink its need for all of its threads to remain threaded together. I am Spongebob Squashpants. I am the pineapple that needs to be dropped down to the bottom of the sea for the next 10 weeks until it's time to resurface and take this baby out. I am the epitome of uncomfortable, and apparently my baby is still supposed to gain several more pounds and somehow I'm supposed to walk upright.

My work keyboard hits my stomach.

My belly button can turn my steering wheel.

My lungs feel like they've been pushed up into my armpits.

Did I mention my back hurts?

I need to go to bed now.