It's not called "FAT" // watch it, the fetus can hear.

This was the title of the newsletter I got this morning for Week 16. "It's not called FAT" - it's an article for husbands to know how not to talk to their wives. Not called fat? Yes it is. It's called uncontrollable eating, and farting and snoring. It's called disgusting pig. Something happens between months 3 and 4 where your waist is like eh fuck it, your thighs start creating protection potholes (to catch falling crumbs) and your arms get batwings to fly away when you can't take it anymore. My body's changing. It's weird. And I have no control over it. Which is so hard. Also, my kid can hear. That's insane. And I didn't even realize it until I spent a morning cursing in NYC traffic. Meet mom, the pottymouth from NJ who has zero patience in Lincoln Tunnel traffic. So we readjusted. We talk sweetly to each other, we sing, we talk to "Sprinks" (short for Sprinkle, it was the size of a sprinkle when we found out we were preggers). I love Spring weather - it's moody, like me. It's freezing and windy and rainy, absolutely perfect for someone who hates to sweat.