"What's going on with your boobs?"
This is what a friend asked the other day. She'd noticed them at a happy hour. A couple friends did. Because they're noticeable.
They actually stick out. I actually have cleavage. Lately, this happens one or two weeks out of each month. Which is a lot, when months only have four weeks.
If you are used to having particularly sticky-outy boobs, you are probably used to living life around them. For me, though, they're in my way, they're sore, and they're just annoying the crap out of me.
And no, I'm not pregnant. That's not where I'm going with this, I promise. Let me take this opportunity to assure you that if and when I actually do get knocked up, I'll tell you straight out.
I'm pretty sure pregnancy is to blame, however.
I blame two women in my office, one of whom, Tej, is a really good friend of mine, for my current breast situation. Because, you see, they're pregnant. Tej is across the office from me, but the other one sits down the hall.
The one down the hall was secretly pregnant, until suddenly, four months in, hello! Pop!
So there's all this hormoney pregnantness swirling around. And there has been for months. These stealth hormones have been sneaking over and screwing with me. I just didn't know it.
I'm almost certain that I have sympathy boobs - in the same way that I'm a period slut.
It'd be one thing if they just got bigger. That would be kind of cool, actually. But the problem is, they're all hurty. Really sore. Walking down the street I feel them with every step. I've been fighting with them, and they are not happy with me.
If I could take them off and leave them at home, I so seriously would. Fuckers.
And so the other day Tej IMed me. She was going to come over.
And I was all, "Oh, no. You keep your pregnancy hormones on your side of the office. I have enough trouble as it is."