Another thing that has changed in the last couple months: My boobs. I was never a flat-chested gal before, but now these things need their own zip code. They are no longer boobs; they're now jugs.

I’m officially a 38D. Now, I have some very busty lady friends who would probably scoff at my newfound jugs and say “That was my bra size in junior high!” and tell me to start whining when I have to do all my bra shopping at specialty stores, but this is new territory for me. And I for one do not care for it. I don’t like not being able to lift my arms over my head and then put them down by my sides without hitting my boobs on the way. I don’t like having cleavage in every shirt I own. I don’t like having to wear two sports bras in order to avoid getting black eyes when I work out.

The worst part is that I know it’s only going to get worse from here. I truly fear what will happen when my milk actually comes in. The other day I saw this poor woman with a baby, and it was clear that she had lost most of her baby weight but was still breastfeeding, because her rack was GIGANTIC and the rest of her was normal-sized. You would think this would be something to envy, since women have been told our whole lives that this is the ideal, but in reality she looked like an even more exaggerated Dolly Parton. I really hope I don’t look like that when the time comes.

My husband is totally on board with my new boobs, it goes without saying. I for one can’t wait for my old boobs to return.