Lost confused and looking for Inspiration - Stage 2

Okay, those who know me, know I’ve been shafted, whoops that should be blessed, with a rather ample bosom. From the age of 13 I was grown used to people talking to my chest rather than my face and people would often say in a kind of confused manner "Gosh, haven’t you grown" or "my what a big girl you are".

As you progress through life you kind of get used to running with your hands holding yourself down, or lying on your side with your arms out to the sides. You even get used to waking in the night and punching your loved one in the back because as he has rolled over, he has rolled on them, me, us!

Lots of people, mainly flatter chested type people, say things like "Ohh I wish I had boobs like yours", but then they look at me again and quickly rephrase that to "smaller than you obviously (why the obviously I feel like asking), "but you know a bit bigger than I have at the moment".

As the years have passed I’ve got used to them, I’ve grown accustomed to their size!

This morning at 3.30 am, after tossing and turning for an hour and a half I experienced a deep sense of desperation and cried out for "tiny pert boobs". Why I howled at the night couldn’t I have been blessed with the proverbial "pancakes, friend eggs or nats bites".

Pondering-me screamed out "Why didn’t they tell us about this, stop them itching". My whole body and particularly the puppies (as Hx and Milky affectionately call them) was one huge itch. "Do the bear scratch!" yelled Pondering-me. So I frantically rubbed myself up and down the bed like some great brown bear with a tree stump, creating blessed friction and a brief respite from the agony of the ITCH!

Triple B kicked my insides like some sort of bucking buckaroo horsy thing, obviously peed off at my thrashing, luckily I had just cut my nails back because my body would, this morning, be covered with scratches.

Oh these books on pregnancy tell you all about the "discomfort" of labour, epidurals and other medical stuff but no where do they mention about the betrayal of your skin, itchy, stretchy frustrating scratchy skin.

My feet danced in the bed, like I was auditioning for Michael Flatleys "River dance", fingers nails pulling off strips of flesh desperate to stop the ITCH!

I tried showering an at 5.15 this morning and eventually bathed myself in coconut butter, copious amounts of it only discovering a little too late the down side to my discovery that coconut butter not only "reduces stretch marks" (Jury is out on this one) but stops the ITCH. The down side to this discovery is that the smell of cocobutter makes me sick!

However Snidey-me taunted from the corner of my darkened brain "would your rather be a slithering mass of non itchiness with a feeling of nausea or be dealing with the ITCH?

TripleB, Pondering-me and I all unanimously called out "Pass the bucket"

Snidey-me giggled in the corner "Ahhh the joys of pregnancy"