When I think about my first pregnancy, I remember feeling really big and round. I don’t remember this funny, thick-around-the-middle in-between stage where people don’t dare ask if you’re pregnant though they’ve got to be wondering.
In my head I keep thinking, “But when am I going to start looking obviously pregnant?” I swore I had a good bump at this point last time around. This seems to be taking forever. (Did I really just write that at only 19 weeks?) I know, I know, give me a few months–weeks?–and I’ll be eating my words, but I’m ready to look good and pregnant. No more thinking about disguising/promoting my belly, please.
I did a little digging, pulled up some old pics, and photographic evidence now confirms that I was pretty off. In fact, I would say that this time around, I’m looking a little more advanced than last time—especially considering the three-week gap in the side-by-side comparison.
If things continue at the rate the photo suggests (not to mention nature’s ability to make you suddenly double in size in just seven days, occasionally), maybe by next week I’ll be writing about back pain, pinched nerves, jabs in my ribs, someone sitting on my bladder 24/7, having absolutely nothing to wear and the perils of getting my shoes on.
And then I’ll really have something to complain about.