My sparkle disco holiday sweater stretched over my 39-week gone girthiness, or-well-the complete opposite of that. (I do not wish to be googled by perverts, so I'm not spelling out "pregnant in underwear" here. Ah-balls.)
I'll leave it up to you to decide which is more or less internet-appropriate. At this point, I really am too distracted by my aching areas and consumed with the urge to thrash around moaning about them to tell the difference or have any modicum of taste regarding the subject.
Should the heinousness of either my sequins or bulging flesh bring you nausea or hilarity, you're welcome/I apologize. Whichever you deem needful. I'll be over here praying for the baby to come this year, which gives him about 32 hours.
Here that, Fuzzwolf? Go. Ok, now. Go.