The Final Hurdle

I'm pretty sure Anita already posted on the same subject at one point, so I apologise in advance for being unoriginal.
But there's no way around it, I need to get it off my chest (stomach).
I am ever so slightly fed up of being pregnant.

I want to be thin.
I want to run my hands over my flat, taut, tanned stomach and feel lithe and light.
I want to walk in an elegant way.
I want to break into a spontaneous run if the urge takes me (this is a theoretical "want" at the moment, given that we're still in the throes of a heatwave...)
I want to have ENERGY (instead of feeling panicky if I miss my afternoon nap)
I want to drink rosé wine and eat a big plate of sushi.
I want to be able to see my feet when I stand up (and - sorry if this is too much information for male readers - I want to be able to shave my legs in a way that doesn't involve an excrutiating and futile yoga-type move)
I want to be free of doctors and clinics and needles and blood tests and paperwork and prodding and measuring...

And most of all

MOST OF ALL

I want to be able to sleep on my stomach!

Be warned: you really don't know how wonderful it is to sleep on your stomach until you're deprived of the option...

And yet, despite this long and whiny list of complaints... I have to agree whole-heartedly with this little sentence that appears in my (one and only) pregnany book in the entry for "What to expect at week 36":
You're sick of being pregnant, but you're not ready to give birth.

Well, exactly.