I actually love the beginning of the final trimester, because I’m usually all like heeeey, I’m totally in my third trimester and I feel fine. And I look fine, too! I then promptly forget about the misery that is month 9-10, and convince myself that I’m really only going to gain 20-something big ones this time around and that I am the fittest preggo to ever ascend the elliptical machine.
It’s basically my pregnancy honeymoon, month 7 is. Though I did have my first “You look just about ready to give birth!” run in with an elderly cashier at Walgreens earlier this week, who followed up with a knowing, “Oh, well, it must be a big baby boy!” Ummm, nope and nope. But thank you kindly for the helpful observations.
Anywho, the favorites:
1. Comparison shots. Even more helpful than googling “30 week pregnant belly” is looking at your own 30 week pregnant belly, the early years. I couldn’t find one of Joey’s pregnancy from exactly 30 weeks, but I was gargantuan with him pretty much the entire last trimester thanks to some hydroamniosis and, I suspect, my daily White Cheddar Cheezit habit. (Megan, if you’re reading this, I blame you as a co-conspirator.) For JP, in true second born style, I have like, 2 pictures from the entire pregnancy, one at 20 something weeks and one at 39 weeks, neither of which worked, so, sorry son. At least you’re getting siblings out of the deal.
33(?) weeks – Joey. And yes, we had professional maternity shoot. In a botanical garden. Nothing says obnoxious like juxtaposing your burgeoning belly with blooming foliage.
30 weeks – Genevieve. Please forgive the half belly caused by ill-fitting non-maternity yoga pants. Get thee to an overpriced maternity store this weekend, I will.
2. Weekly self-manicures. My current color obsession is navy and gold, and I’ve been keeping my fingers uncharacteristically polished, telling myself that it’s now or never in the personal hygiene/relaxation department. I’ve literally locked the boys in the backyard in order to feed the addiction. Judge away, anons.
(Not my grown out bare cuticles, ftr.)
3. Waking up at night. No, I’m being serious. Not being woken up by angry toddlers, mind you, but the sort of restless 2 or 3 am waking where you realize, with some relief, it’s only hunger or the urgent need to pee for the 18th time since 10 pm that’s calling, and not a squalling newborn kitten begging for more milk. The feeling of being able to go back to sleep upon waking unexpectedly is sheer bliss. Bliss, I tell you.
4. Can I talk about my Blanqi again? No? Okay, I’m just going to go ahead and give them one more shout out, lest anyone out there in retail land be reading and feel the need to send another one or four my way just because, well then, by all means.
I’ll take one in this color, per favore
I.love.this.thing. I want one in every color, and I want a couple more that are regular length versus the long that I originally ordered, which, don’t get me wrong, I love for its ass-shaping capacity, but looks goofy pulled halfway down my thighs over jeans. Though, in its defense, it does hold up the stupid jeans. Why don’t full panel maternity jeans stay up? Any thoughts? Besides my huge, huge ass? Heard enough about my ass in today’s post? Thought so.
5. If Pope Francis had a ghostwriter, I think she’d be Simcha Fisher.
I could not put this down last night, and seriously had several ‘aha, gonna pray about that’ moments while reading. I’m 60% through the Kindle version and I’m la-la-loving it to death. Or to life, perhaps more appropriately.
Happy fall, y’all. Hopefully Hallie’s got more of the good stuff ’round her place.