It must be because it is armageddon week on the History Channel...

It has been a while since my boobs were the main topic of one of my blog posts.

(I can almost hear Trevor bracing himself and rolling his eyes. Can't you?)

Today, I did what every woman who is 10 months pregnant wants to do. I went shopping with my sister for bridesmaids dresses. Because nothing makes a lady feel extra special and sexy than trying to fit into something with a waist at a time when you are wider than you've ever been before.

Luckily, Amy knew exactly what she wanted and the trip was short and to the point. I only had to try one dress on, and - luckily - they had it available in maternity. Which was funny in itself because when I asked for it in maternity, the sales lady stopped, looked at me and asked if I was planning on being pregnant in April.

I quickly responded with, "No. I am hoping not to be pregnant this time tomorrow. But I'm shopping for this dress today."

My sister then gently explained to the poor woman that I'm due any time, and perhaps a little bitter at this point.

The dress on bobble head barbie.

Anyway, the dress ended up being exactly what Amy wanted and soon a color was nailed down (thank goodness!). So, all that was left was for me to be measured, the dress ordered and for me to pay.

Except I am very pregnant, and being measured for dresses while pregnant is a tad bit depressing. Remember THIS STORY?

The dress on me in the wrong color. Oh, how I miss my waist.
And not looking so incredibly puffy, thick and...well, pregnant.

Well, as it turns out, my boobs have stayed consistently the LARGEST part of my body during the last forty or so weeks. They still - surprisingly - stick out further than my belly, which apparently is odd when you are this kind of pregnant. But there you go. I've actually decided to blame my boobs for making me look less pregnant and more fat. Hey, I need a scapegoat for why I haven't been able to feel comfortable parking in the expectant mothers' spaces at Whole Foods and Tom Thumb during Thor's entire gestation period.

In fact, my chest is SO large (coupled with the fact that I am planning on breast feeding for at least six months) that the sales lady declared that she didn't even need to measure any part of my body EXCEPT my boobs. Which is how I ended up ordering an effing size 18 W this afternoon. Again, to accommodate my breasts and my breasts alone. Not even my VERY pregnant belly needs that much fabric.

My first instinct was to burst into tears and sob uncontrollably.

My mother, however, congratulated me. You know what they say: The boobs are always greener on the other side. Okay, that is totally stupid and not at all how the cliche goes, but I'm here to tell you that I've always wanted small boobs and don't understand why women pay good money for this kind of misery.

Speaking of which: How do women like Dolly Parton and Pamela Anderson buy clothes that fit? No, I don't pretend have a body like either of them (obviously), but I am still curious how someone deals with being this kind of top heavy on a regular basis. You must have to have all your tops and dresses specially made for you or something. Which is just a lot of effort if you ask me.

In other news, the bridesmaids dress I bought for my friend's wedding next month came in and it fits perfectly in the chest and is too big in the belly. Because I know you were worried and waiting on pins and needles for an update. But, in all seriousness, it IS nice to know that I don't have to worry about immediately losing a ton of weight in the middle in the next three weeks, because who knows if/when that will happen. Especially if Thor ends up being an elephant/human X-File hybrid and I am still pregnant come mid January.

You might laugh, but every day that goes by without a baby makes me think such ridiculous things are actually possible.

In fact, I only really need to be concerned with how much larger (say it isn't so!) my boobs might become once I start breastfeeding. Lord. The mere idea that they could become any bigger is just plain depressing. And sort of amazing in an awful and sadistic kind of way.

But I digress...

After the successful bridesmaid shopping excursion, I went and got a pedicure with the January bride, Anni. Not because I need especially pretty nails at this point in my pregnancy, but because I read that there is a pressure point somewhere in the foot or ankle that can induce labor. Apparently you are supposed to alert pedicurists to the fact that you are pregnant so they avoid the area. But I warned NO ONE because I am at that point where I am HOPING to hit some random hypothetical pressure point to stimulate Thor's arrival.

Call me crazy!

Six hours later and no baby, but my toes look awesome. And the foot message, although a total spurge, was absolutely fabulous. So, yeah, at least there is that.

Doctor's appointment tomorrow. Pray for progress!!!