My nipples are killing me! Why can’t that part wait until there’s a crazy kid latched on, sucking the life out of me? Ugh. This hasn’t really happened to me before, but I have read and heard it’s a normal part of the ol’ pregnancy hormone cocktail. That means I’m not worried, but why can’t said cocktail just make me feel drunk instead of give me nipple pain? Someone could get really rich working that idea. Alcoholics, hear me out. My boobs feel fine, and I still am embarrassed to report they are no bigger than usual. I can’t complain about saving money by not having to buy bras and it’s great being able to workout without giant mama-knockers in my way, but it feels like random pinches and a constant subtle electricity current running through. Certain fabrics might start a fire. I could rev a dead car battery with these babies. Ridiculous.
Everything else is going well, however, so life is good. Wyatt’s sibling has begun kicking me and I’m in a good mental place. Can’t worry too much about the random nipple-caused wildfire if everything else is just peachy. 
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