Pre-pregnancy, I had no idea that pregnant women in their third trimester aren’t allowed on planes. Well, I guess you can cheat but Dean’s all about following rules and not living life on the edge when it comes to his baby. I keep mumbling to my tummy “Daddy’s not cool like us…” and I swear it kicks in agreement everytime.
So since MAS doesn’t want me, and AirAsia doesn’t want me, and Firefly doesn’t want me… I guess I’m staying put from now till the baby’s 18 years old, I guess. Le sigh.
It doesn’t help that my cravings now are beaches.
I keep getting emails about holiday deals and stuff (is it just me or I’m getting more of those emails in my third trimester… I should really unsubscribe for my sanity’s sake) with saliva-worthy pictures of coconut trees, soft sand and clear blue water. I’m terrified of the ocean, but somehow when I can’t have it, it seems soooo delicious. Typical! *slaps self*
This morning, Waa sent me a picture of her and Toots.
They’re in freaking Maldives enjoying the ultimate beach holiday.
Looookkk.. isn’t it beautiful? You haven’t seen the villas yet!, she texted.
And there I was eating Lays on the couch with my Dr. Backbone, sweating from hot flushes and blowing away crumbs that fell on my top.
I looked at the picture and went Ughhh.
I hope it rains, I replied.