The babe: an update

The babe: size of a large tomato
The belly: size of large, squishy, slightly lumpy watermelon

It’s happened.  We are no longer interesting as Zach and Clarissa.  We are now seen merely as producers of a grandchild/niece/nephew/cute baby.  And that is how it should be.  Even at work, the women are constantly asking me “how I’m feeling” while the men go, “hey, how’s all this stuff going?” while motioning in wide circles around their abdomens.  I feel the love, man.

At 18 weeks, I have entered the “fat” stage, where instead of looking pregnant I just look chubby.  The cute round baby bump is missing and in its place a little pool floatie has settled around my waist.  I used to be able to, y’know, suck it in, but it is now unsuckable.  I feel a strong desire to tell everyone that I meet that I’m not normally like this.  No really, I swear I’m pregnant.

Out of some deranged matter of pride, I was reluctant to make the switch to maternity clothes but all that pride went out the window last week.  My jeans were fresh from the dryer and refused to button up, so, in a rush, I grabbed a pair of maternity capris (thanks Tawny!).  As I slipped the wide elastic band over my little inner tube and ran to the car all I could think was, “why on earth didn’t I start wearing these earlier? In fact, why isn’t this all I wear EVER?”  I may never go back to button-up again.

After “how are you feeling?” the next most frequently asked question is “when do you find out if it’s a boy or a girl?”  Well ladies and gents, the ultrasound has been scheduled for Sept 27, so feel free to share your guesses and if you win  I’ll make you cookies.

 And I might just eat them for you too.