The grandma

Since I got pregnant my mother is calling me every second day to tell me some kind of story from her pregnancy, or my aunt's pregnancies, or my grandmas', or anybody else, friends, neighbors, their daughters, acquaintances and mascots.

In general I find it cute and dear when my mother tells me that she was craving for ice-cream in December, asks me if I'm already using cream against stretch marks, and announces very proudly that I'm so healthy because I took milk for seven months (and ruined my mother's breasts, by the way) and because she didn't take even an aspirin while she was pregnant.

Then, there is the slightly disturbing stuff that I didn't know before, like the fact that with my sister her belly was so big that she had to hold it with special underwear so it would't bounce around. Can it bounce around? Really? Gross.

And finally, there is the stuff that I definitely didn't want to know, for example, that my mother chose to be drugged with anesthesia when she gave birth to me. While I understand that epidural was maybe not usual at the time, and my mom and I share the opinion that God gave us opium for a reason... drugged? Really? Lucky me she didn't take even an aspirin during pregnancy...

Pregnancy Symptoms: Getting fat. Enormous boobs which Martin seems to find sexy despite terrible new giant bra.
Mother instinct: Nope, not yet. Not having aspirins, though. Feel proud. Hope fetus appreciate