I am officially top heavy...

Trevor wouldn't let me take his picture, but he finally wore me down and got me to go to A Pea In A Pod. I went willingly enough. Mainly because I am nearly 17 weeks along and I figure I will start showing sooner rather than later. Plus, I've been inundated with stories of other pregnant women who didn't show and didn't show and then - literally - woke up one morning and their pants didn't fit. And as much as I would love an excuse to one day wear sweat pants to work, July didn't seem like the month to call that one in.

So, after church this morning, off to Trevor's own personal maternity store Mecca we went.

I only intended to buy one of those belly extenders (so you can keep wearing your pre-pregnancy pants for a while longer) and a bra or two. But, well...I ended up buying more. I blame the downward spiral that was caused by the mental trauma of trying on bras in sizes E and F, and watching them fit...perfectly. Seriously, when did THAT happen? It just isn't right. Boobs shouldn't be that big.

And in case any men are reading this and feeling envious of Trevor, bras in sizes E and F are decidedly not sexy. They are granny chic and sold under the Spanx label. Trash bags and empty laundry detergent bottles have more sex appeal. Seriously.

A Pea In A Pod was having a sale on jeans, so I went ahead and got two pairs. Jeans are standard dress for Colorado, and I started worrying about arriving in Durango and suddenly having no jeans that fit. I also got four tops to go along with two giganticly unsexy plus sized bras.

It was a hard and expensive afternoon.

In other news, my dislike for onions has officially become an aversion. Last night a tiny piece of onion found its way into my potato, egg and cheese burrito, and I GAGGED. Repeatedly. As in "I almost threw up". It was awful. I couldn't even bring myself to eat the guacamole (usually one of my favorite foods) because there was a risk that I might get a taste of another onion. Onions have never tasted good to me, but this is ridiculous. I'm not even sure I'll be able to stomach another Fuzzy burrito until after the baby arrives. That teeny tiny piece of onion was simply THAT bad.

So, in summary, I now own maternity clothes, I officially hate onions and my boobs are obscene.

Oh, and my sister is now obsessed with True Blood.

And that, my friends, was my weekend.