So as of last week, here was me:
I didn't realize that the shirt I'm wearing in that picture had the white streaks like it's being blown up until after the first time I wore it. I guess that's a sign that I've given up on fashion (because I was such a fashionista previously). How hilarious of the shirt-maker, by the way, to design the shirt to have its own stretch marks that grow, the larger the pregnant woman gets.
At this point it feels like I've always been pregnant and will always be pregnant, and sometimes I forget that there are babies in there and that I'm not just fat. (But in a weird way where I'm ok with being fat.) I see myself in a mirror and accept, "and this is how I look now." Like it's an immutable characteristic, like having only one arm. There's no use fretting about it, so just move on and learn how to live with one arm. Except instead of losing an arm I've gained an enormous gut, that I have accepted. This is how it is now.
ANYway, there are both pros and cons about this stage of pregnancy. For example, social or family events. On one hand, I'm a cheap date (water instead of wine) and a sober driver. On the other hand, the word "vaginal" now comes up in dinner conversations with alarming frequency. At Easter dinner, it was amusing watching Zach explain to his mother's friend why I'm having a scheduled caesarean instead of vaginal birth. He'll say "c-section" but then "you know, that way" to refer to vaginal. (His mother finally said what needed to be said: "you mean vaginal!") And then I realize we're all sitting around a lovely holiday dinner table talking about my nether regions, and I really wish I could at least have a glass of wine. (How many points do I get for writing the word "vaginal" four, wait no, FIVE times in this post?)
Coming up soon: baby shower this weekend and then 30 week appointment next week. Woo hoo!
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