size and shape
She knew she was getting bigger but made a point of not thinking about it too much. She didn't feel all that much bigger. When she was pregnant the first time she didn't know what to expect, but when she conceived the second time she was proud of her belly, and proud of her curves, too, since being pregnant meant she was allowed to have some.
Having gone full-term twice she knows what she looks like big, but when she looks back on the pregnancy photos she doesn't seem that big at all. Well, the belly, yes. But her face? Not so much. Now she has no neck to speak of, and when she lies down her cleavage goes all the way up to her chin.
She remains in denial until the day when she realises she can no longer walk and must waddle, and the day soon after that when she can't even waddle without a walking stick. On the one hand, it's nice, because when she heaves herself onto the bus she almost always gets a seat, but on the other hand, she doesn't like the way it feels to be stared at by hordes of passing schoolchildren when she's waiting to cross the road.
She's too old to have another baby, but it doesn't stop her rubbing her belly every night and pretending there's something good in there, something that will make her life better, give her a reason to get up in the morning.
Secretly she's relieved that she's too fat to conceive, because she knows she's too selfish for that kind of commitment.
She wonders if this is why she's let herself get so fat - to be unattractive, to reduce the likelihood of getting pregnant, so she doesn't have to admit to herself that she's terrified of having another child.
These thoughts escape even while she's deciding not to think them. Better just to rub the belly and pretend.