It is beginning to look more and more like I'm carrying a 2012 baby...

As the minutes continue to tick by, it looks less and less likely like I will be a mother in 2011.

(Sigh)

But, you know what? I've totally made my peace with it and have moved on. Well, waddled away uncomfortably at least.

I've done everything I can think of to do. It is up to Thor now. Might as well let him come when he wants to. Or, if he waits until Wednesday's appointment, when the good doctor tells me we are inducing. Either way, it isn't up to me.

All this probably explains why I didn't get out of bed until noon and watched four episodes in a row of Parenthood. I've always liked to pretend that I have some sort of semblance of control over things, and giving up that illusion generally involves chocolate and watching way too much TV. Today was no different. And, by the way Trevor, we are out of chocolate milk. Again.

(Have I mentioned that I've been consuming a disgusting amount of milk - skim, chocolate and otherwise - over the past five or six weeks? No? Well, I have.)

In other news, my entire family except for dear Auntie Mimi and Trevor have left town for New Years. My dad, brother and sister are at the ranch and my mom went to Bonham. Cell phone reception at all of these places is known to be spotty at best, which might explain why most of them are now convinced I will go into labor at any second. Or maybe once they all have a glass or two of champagne or wine in their system and they can't drive anywhere until morning.

If it works, the kiddo has totally inherited my sense of humor.

Here are my last belly pictures of 2011. They were taken this morning. Please take a moment to properly bask in my +/- 41 week wideness:







And in closing, here is the final sunset of 2011 as seen from my bedroom window:

Happy New Year's Eve!!!

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!!!

The post where Trevor goes out of his way to make me look like a fat a$$...

It's been three weeks since my last series of belly pictures, and I've been getting a lot of requests. Mainly, from people who are convinced that my belly is going to spontaneously pop before this whole thing is over. And since I am considered term now (regardless of which due date you are using), I guess I should be more diligent in my documentation.

If you are me, or someone who knows me, it is pretty clear that I am as wide as a house. I feel huge.

However, if you are someone who rarely sees me or a complete stranger (like the guy at Sprint on Friday who sold us our new iPhones) I either look barely pregnant or not pregnant at all. Trevor had to back me up to the Sprint salesman that I really was nine months gone and could give birth at any time. I'm not sure he bought it, though.

Anyway, as always, you be the judge. And sorry in advance for the sweats. I'm still under the weather, and simple things - like getting dressed - are really just too much effort at this point.









And because Trevor says that none of the above make me look pregnant enough, he had me hold up my shirt in the kitchen and took pictures of my bare belly from the most unflattering angle he could find.

This one wasn't good enough apparently, so...

...he got REALLY. FREAKING. CLOSE.

See?! Complete larda$$. I can't wait to have my abs back.

Okay. Maybe empire waisted clothing makes me look pregnant...

The following are the latest batch of belly pictures from over the weekend.

The first group are from last night at Idlewild. That's right: I wore a summer maxi dress to a white tie ball. To be fair, though, I just couldn't justify buying a maternity ball gown that I'd wear once for a matter of hours.

But, to dress it up, my Aunt Mimi lent me Moo's fur stole. Which nearly made my father faint when he saw me. Guess he never figured he catch me dead in fur anything. Normally, this is the case, but I was desperate to dress up my black, cotton dress. Plus, the stole itself is AT LEAST 60 years old. Wearing heirloom fur seems somehow more acceptable than "new fur". But maybe that is just me making excuses because I actually thought it looked pretty.

In either event, I got lots of compliments on it, and it made me happy to be wearing something that was once my grandmother's. Apparently, I got my broad shoulders from her.

Anyway, these pictures are post event, so I am looking a little worse for wear. I can't remember the last time I was out until nearly midnight:






The second group is from this morning after Sunday School. We had an intergenerational event for all of the kiddos instead of regular Sunday School by grade. There had been discussion of Trevor and I having to dress up like Joseph and Mary (since our church decided to kick off the advent season a week early), but somehow we got out of it and only had to help the kids with their craft projects instead.

My sister thinks it is because I didn't look pregnant enough.

You be the judge:





Depending on which due date you are using, I am somewhere between 34.5 and 36.5 weeks. I've decided to average the two together and just go with 35.5. Soon I'll be considered "full term" regardless, and I'll be happy as long as I start 2012 with a baby.

When I wear dresses, people say I look more pregnant...

But don't take my word for it!

This first group of photos was taken on Friday before work (don't worry, Halley. The black top is just underneath the fleece sweater. I'd hate to ruin the illusion that it is the only maternity top that I own):






This second group was taken before my shower on Sunday:






And, no. That isn't a maternity dress. I've had it for several years and it is just made out of an exceptionally forgiving material that allows my eight months preggo belly and size F knockers to (somehow) squeeze inside.

In other news, one of the members of the janitorial staff at the museum stopped, stared at me and asked if I was expecting today. Granted, she sees me several times a week, so it isn't quite the same as a stranger walking up to me at the grocery store and asking when I am due. But it IS the closest I have gotten to it so far.

On the plus side, I haven't had a single stranger touch my belly. I think it is just because they aren't sure if I am pregnant or just fat.

On the down side, I don't get any sympathy either. Especially when I am pathetically winded going up flights of stairs. People around me just think I am out of shape. They don't realize I have a kiddo pushing on my lungs because he thinks it is hilarious.

The bizarre high of an (almost but not really) stranger asking if I was pregnant was quickly shattered, however, when my intern from last fall stopped by to volunteer this morning and had absolutely no idea I was pregnant. She just thought I had gained a few pounds since she last saw me.

Speaking of which, I've actually gained 25. Which is depressing. The doctor insists I am right on target, though, so I am trying to keep my chin up. Even if my husband thinks I look like a fat, old man.

(No, Trev. I have no plans on letting THAT one go anytime soon!)

I AM starting to get really tired, though. Maybe it is just because I had a long weekend. Or maybe being at the tail end of this whole pregnancy thing is starting to wear on me. Either way, I feel like I am spending an exceptional amount of time every day wishing I could go home and take a nap.

And then my trainer got on me because I only burned 700 calories at the gym this evening (I've been averaging 1,000 to 1,500 a workout). I just can't win. Although, I WANT to burn more calories because I've been craving sweets lately like you wouldn't believe. Seriously. When I'm not thinking about napping, I'm envisioning tootsie rolls, chocolate covered almonds and vanilla petit fours. This can't be good for my (ever expanding) waist line.

Sigh...

This whole pregnancy thing isn't for suckers. Just FYI.

It was bound to happen sometime, right?

On Saturday night I rolled over when Trevor got home from the Ranger's game and heard a audible "POP" in my abdomen followed by a searing pain. It was all focused on the area right below my sternum; where my rib cage comes together above my stomach.

At the time I was pretty sure I was dying, but the pain actually subsided quickly and I wasn't even sore the next day. The weird thing is that I suddenly seem to LOOK more pregnant, and I have had several people comment on my baby bump since then. I guess the popping sound and pain were just my abs pulling apart to better accommodate el nino.

Or maybe Thor really does have a hammer in there.

In any event, I figured it was time to take another batch of belly pictures. My apologies in advance to Halley for taking the pictures myself and for wearing my usual black maternity t-shirt.

Depending on which due date you are using, I am either almost 30 or 32 weeks:

For Halley...

Here I am in a WHITE t-shirt this morning:







And just to cover all my bases, here are the pictures my coworker took this afternoon:

Oh holy wideness.

Close up of fat rolls.

My coworker went out of her way to take the least flattering photos possible. Which I thought you would appreciate considering how you told Trevor someone else needed to do the photographing from here on out.

I even tried to push my belly out more in the first one just to give you the desired effect.

Happy now? ;P

Seventh Month and still just plain fat...

I started the seventh month this week, so I figured I should document the occasion by taking some more belly pictures. And, yes, before you say anything that is the exact same outfit I wore the last time I did this about 2.5 weeks ago. I figured it was best to stay consistent clothing-wise for this little project.

And, well, I don't have a lot of clothes.

Plus, if you look closely, I am totally wearing a different necklace. In my world, that basically makes it a brand new ensemble.






All my friends keep telling me that they can (finally) tell that I am pregnant. Except for friends that I don't see very often and don't know that I am knocked up. Those friends still have to be informed because they either can't tell by looking at me that I am with child or are afraid to ask.

And then there was the lady last night at an evening function who basically said I must be joking when I told her I was expecting. In other words, strangers and acquaintances still seem to be none the wiser about the existence of Thor.

On the plus side, though, weird people haven't tried to touch my belly. Unless you count my sister. And, well, there isn't much I can do about that except scowl.

The frustrating thing is that I have the weight gain without the belly and the hip and low back pain without the distention. It all seems very backwards to me. I really thought I would be able to park in the Expectant Mothers space at Whole Foods by now.

Bother.

Even when I try, I fail...

I tried to document my belly this morning. Not because there is all that much to show, but because I feel the need to prove that I'm still barely showing at nearly 24 weeks.

It took awhile because I couldn't find a mirror in my house that didn't showcase my poor housekeeping skills in the background. I finally decided on the guest bedroom, because - let's face it - hardly anyone ever goes in there.

Problem is, my sister swears that the images make it look like I am sucking in my belly. Except I'm not. Honest. And for those who don't believe me: I DON'T HAVE ABS ANYMORE. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO SUCK ANYTHING IN AT THIS POINT!

Seriously. Just ask my trainer.

Funny thing is that I was actually TRYING to angle my stomach closer to the mirror. This, if anything, should make it look larger. Or so I thought. Gosh, I don't know. Blame the fact that I was wearing a black top.

Amy insisted that she take more pictures of me, since I obviously wasn't doing it right. Except she managed to take the worst images of me EV-VER. It was like she was trying to find an unflattering angle. When I showed them to Trevor, he even exclaimed, "What the heck were you doing?!"

Yeah. They were THAT bad.

Needless to say, I am not putting the awful pictures on my blog. You will just have to settle for these:

If it is any consolation, I can tell I'm pregnant.
You can't deny those fat rolls!