The thing about Growing Blob, right?  Is that I have to seriously increase my dairy intake.

Luckily, this involves – and is not limited to – Connoisseur ice cream. Tonight’s flavour: cookies and cream.

I reckon this is much justified and well-deserved, owing to the absolutely abominable half-week I’ve had with a group of half-wits collectively imbued with too much whimsy, underwhelming foresight, crap listening-comprehension skills, and a death wish.

One of the pregger colleagues (I really have to start giving them shiny names) was telling me how a calm fell over her as soon as she learnt she was expecting. She had become unflappable. “Nothing is worth it,” she told me. “Stress is just so bad for a pregnancy, and nothing is worth risking your pregnancy.”

I think I need to sufficiently scare myself into a coma of calm, because I’ve not been unflappable this week – I’ve been ropable. And if the Western Australian 2008 study on everyday stress in pregnant women is anything to go by, I might inadvertantly be giving my unborn child behavioural problems.

Which sounds like a bag of hooey, really. Because couldn’t another perfectly logical correlation be that aggressive mothers model aggressive behaviour in their young? Which means I’m still doomed, but at least we know it’s not because I “aggressified” my foetus because I yelled at people this week for being very silly. Geez.

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