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Four years ago, I was waddling around like a fat penguin and being referred to as "sausage toes" by my doctor. The only shoes I could wear were flip-flops and my love for the summer sun was quickly diminishing with every pound I gained.
Thankfully, for me and the sanity of everyone around me, I was only a few short days away from my planned C-section. It seems fitting that my delivery was planned down to the minute being that I have a touch (just a touch) of obsessive compulsive disorder.
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