I fully acknowledge that this shirt does not showcase the belly to the greatest effect.  In fact, it’s really more a tent than a shirt, and provides little in the way of contouring or flattering.

The one thing it does do, however, is cover my belly all the way.  This means that even though it would qualify as a mini-dress on most of you, and it makes me look less “Glowing pregnant woman” and more “Frumpy gigantic woman”, it is full of win.

Behold, me, the baby, and the circus tent we’re wearing at 38 weeks pregnant:

Though even this shirt is starting to veer slightly toward the too short...

It would be redundant to say I’m huge.  Instead, I’ll make note of a few other things.  One, I chopped a bunch of my hair off.  It was really long, and it was driving me nuts, but I didn’t want to shell out for a haircut until Wes had a job.  The day he received an offer?  He and I skipped over to Great Clips and reveled in our newly lightweight heads.

Two, it feels like my bump has settled a little lower recently.  It’s still all in front, but I no longer feel like Squishy’s butt is hovering around my clavicle.  My midwife concurs with me, saying that just by looking at me she can tell that there’s a whole lot of space up top where the baby isn’t.

This is great, because I no longer feel baby feet inside my ribcage on a daily basis.  There is, however, always a trade-off.  In exchange for more comfort up top, I now have an insane amount of pressure down low.  I described the feeling to my midwife as feeling like at times if I sneezed or laughed hard enough his head would just pop right out (wishful thinking much?).

She was actually delighted by this, and told me that this is often how second and third time moms describe feeling at the end of the third trimester.  She feels confident that, since Squishy’s already down so far and is working very hard to move his giant baby head down lower every day, it won’t take me too long to get him out.

I hope to goodness she’s right!  That would be rad.  I was talking to my other midwife last week, and she said that they have noticed that tall women with long bones, such as myself, do seem to have shorter labors.  Even if they’re just telling me these things to shore up my confidence, I’m going to use these comments to continue preparing myself mentally for what’s ahead.

Encouragement and confidence.  I think these are nearly as helpful for a straightforward labor as long bones and baby who’s dedicated to showing what a good little boy he is by being as helpful as possible.  Oh, and peanut butter filled pretzels.  We can’t forget those.

So I was so totally not kidding about the growth spurt:

Never thought I'd see the day when something would be so big it'd make the rest of me look small...

At my midwife appointment yesterday, she measured my belly and remarked at how much it’s grown since two weeks ago.  I normally measure on the low side of normal but at this appointment my belly measured slightly ahead of schedule.  Squishy’s been busy!

While she pressed into my tummy to get an idea of the baby’s position, I asked her if he felt like a big baby to her.  She felt around some more and said that he didn’t feel big to her, but that he did feel really long.  This would explain how his head can be so low in my pelvis yet I don’t feel much of the relief I’ve been promised in my pregnancy books.

They all say that as the baby drops lower into the pelvis, it frees up room in the top of the uterus so you can breathe a little better.  He’s definitely dropping lower and lower, but I don’t really feel like I can breathe easier.  All I can do is just picture this long, lean little baby complaining about his short mommy (ha!).

Even with this gigantic belly, I still have yet to have a stranger ask me when I’m due or try to touch my stomach.  I may be the stealthiest pregnant chick in the world.  We were at H&R Block filing our taxes this weekend and when Wes announced loudly (because he’s a proud papa, that one) that we are having a baby next month, a guy walking by actually stopped, pointed at me, and said, “Wait, you are?”

At this point, it doesn’t even do me any good to be indignant.  As long as my midwives know how far along I am and when I’m due I reckon it doesn’t really matter that total strangers are oblivious.

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you Squishy’s new ride…

…The land yacht.

At my baby shower last weekend (a recap is coming in tomorrow’s Pregnancy Files entry, I promise) I received numerous well-meaning compliments about how I’m tiny and don’t look like I’m 8.5 months pregnant.

Let me assure you: Even if I don’t look 8.5 months pregnant, I feel every single day of those 8.5 months.  I’m fully aware that I’ve gotten off pretty easy as far as pregnancy symptoms go, but this darling little love of mine is pushing 5 lbs. and it would be impossible to cart that kind of heft around without feeling it.

I feel it in my back.  I feel it in my pelvis.  But most of all I feel it in my dignity, when I topple over like a cheap card table every morning while putting on my underwear.

I have to preface this picture with a disclaimer, so here we go.

I am on vacation, and have been for nigh on two weeks.  I have applied makeup approximately four times during this two week period.  This morning was not one of those times.  I am not consumptive, nor have I caught a dread illness.  This is just what I look like without my trusty cosmetics.

Phew!  Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I can show off what 32 weeks of pregnancy looks like for me:

Look! You can actually see out the window because this photo was not taken before work! Hi, wheelbarrow and work shed!

Even though my belly feels huge to me, I don’t think it looks nearly as big as it feels.  I keep getting comments from people about how small I look, and it boggles the heck out of my mind because  it’s the first time in my life people have commented on how small I am.

Now, strictly speaking, I am not small at all belly-wise.  My measurements are all exactly where they should be, Squishy is a nice, normal size for his age, and my weight gain is actually on the low side of normal.

I think the illusion of smallness stems from how large I am in general.  During pregnancy, everyone’s uterus expands and grows at more or less the same rate.  A 32 week belly looks a lot smaller on a 5′ 11″ torso than it does on a 5′ 2″ torso.  Hence, comments that I’m small.

I think this may also be why I have yet to have a single stranger ask me when I’m due or try to touch my tummy.  I think people just assume that’s my holiday paunch and leave well enough alone.

Still, though.  I don’t feel small.  I feel like the Incredible Hulk when I realize that I burst out of all my sweatpants save one pair.  My belly feels impossibly big when I have to change how I chop vegetables because the knife keeps hitting my stomach.

I’m big, but I’m not.  It’s an enigma wrapped in a contradiction, like finding a chocolate covered pretzel in a fat free snacks bag.

Today is a special day.  Not just because it’s eight days before Christmas, but because it’s the anniversary of the day Wes and I vowed to stick together no matter how annoying either of us got in our old age.

As you can see, I was just ever so slightly excited.  I was 20 years old, halfway through college, and just minutes away from marrying the guy I’d been swooning over since I was 16.

At this point, we’d bought a house together which Wes was keeping cozy for me until I could join him there as his wife.  He was selling cars for a living while I finished school and took care of his sister’s beautiful girls as a nanny.

Before I knew it…

We were married!  (The blond guy you see looking down and away is my little brother, sporting his semi-ironic faux-hawk.  My grandfather was apoplectic when he saw that faux-hawk, thereby making it the faux-hawk that will live in infamy)

Now, on this day four years later, this is where we are:

Our first child is on his way, we’re more thankful for each other now than we’ve ever been, and life is very, very good.

I’d say that calls for some cake, wouldn’t you?