In news as inconceivable as me finally eating and loving cheese, my OB has put me on a low-carb, less-sugar diet because I have gained 10 pounds within a month and it doesn't show. And for someone who has never been on a diet, IT IS SO DIFFICULT. We're scheduled for our last fetal biometry ultrasound tomorrow and we're hoping the baby has not grown too big because I want to deliver normally.

My armpits, although not perfect, is something I was not insecure about. I used to have fair armpits. It was not exactly flawless but it was enough for me to raise my arms confidently, until this pregnancy. I knew this is normal.

But I also knew that having dark, unsightly underarms is always unwelcomed, heavily criticized and, who knows, is close to becoming a taboo.

When I took this selfie, I realized how bad my armpits have become (I swear these look worse up close). I was about to delete this and give myself another round of self-disgust when the little one gave me the strongest kick I have ever felt. I was reminded that this is happening because I am carrying a life inside me. But more than that, I was reminded that I am human. Never perfect and always flawed.

I thought that my blogger duties were put on halt (if it is still not obvious, I haven't been Instagramming and blogging as regularly as I would have). For the past few days, all I did was literally eat and sleep the whole day, and Google about these aBsOLutEly HeLPfuL tHinGs iN LiFe like duck cannibalism, snake poop, and galloping crocodiles in between.

I have been declining design job opportunities and writing gigs because this pregnancy is getting more and more difficult I am simply lazy. But I wouldn't say I am lazy all the time. I make myself useful by giving the husband a pat on the back for being the hardworking man that he is because he needs more motivation to work harder now that I don't have job (and I got items on my cart waiting to be checked out). Haha. But I guess, it's also worth mentioning that I am not the whiny and demanding pregnant wife every husband is terrified about. Or to put it simply, I try not to be a burden to him even though this has got to be my life right now:

If it wasn't for the blog contest entry that I posted a few days ago, you all would have assumed that I have been zapped into Uranus and never return. Well, to those who love hate-reading me, sucks to be you, I am still here!

I kid about the haters, of course. I don't remember offending anyone or at least, not in their face. But there's probably someone out there who's willing to make a pact with the devil in hopes of seeing me lose the blog contest just so I have something to be miserable about.

Well, there's no need for that, buddy. I have already read almost all the entries and most of them are coming from professional and trained writers who showed me how inferior my writing skills are. I wouldn't even think I'd make it to the top ten. And also, my job application at Automattic was, unsurprisingly, unsuccessful.

Following our marriage last year, we have fervently prayed for a baby because, I hate to admit it, we are already in our mid-30s. We cannot deny the fact that our bio clocks are ticking. Jan and I have always wanted our own. The sooner, the better. And it was December last year when our prayers were answered. I knew 2020 is going to be our year.

Just when I thought I'm already done with video games, I find myself attacked by this:

Today, I woke up to Jan hugging me as he whispered, "May the 4th be with us."


I gave out a smile. "What a silly way to greet Happy Anniversary," I thought. But a warm feeling washed over me and suddenly, it didn’t feel silly anymore. I hugged back, kissed him on the lips, and closed my eyes. 

I cannot keep a job for more than 3 years and I do not know if that is a good or bad thing. Hopping from one job to another in a short span of time does not leave a good impression to most employers here. But my career has plateaued. If I am no longer growing and not getting any closer to my career goals, then it's love, peace, and chicken grease.