It was drizzling when I hit the streets to McDonald's this morning.
Jef and I were set for a breakfast date. Well, that's at least for me. His time line's kind of messed up now telling me he just ate dinner at 3 am-ish. How come that's dinner?
At the onset of my 34th week, I've noticed how 'siga' I was already walking. Baby love's putting in a lot of weight. And my knees were near trembling. Plus, the innate fact of my being flat-footed, I was always so close to slipping. And tripping. Like Saturday morning. I did not mean the words to rhyme, you know.
I couldn't say I wasn't moving with caution. I was. The everyday work from Makati to Greenhills should tell it all.
From Ayala's stair-tripping to Greenhills' grueling walk, plus the rains the past couple of days, I could be supermom. I thought I was holding up quite good. Or just so I thought.
But of course, I didn't want to sound to be whining or whatsoever. Or do I sound like I just did?
Nonetheless, I was ecstatic feeling my little kick boxer do his moves while waiting for Jef over at our table this morning.
He could be loving the hash browns.
Or the hot choco maybe.
Or just the mere fact that we are eating breakfast together.
Or maybe everything about this day.
Exactly the way I'm loving it.
