Hey guess what? I’m still pregnant! Shocking, I know.

I mentioned to the doctor that I was worried I didn’t look pregnant enough, but she assured me that my uterus is just the right size. Did you know that the number of inches from the top of your pubic bone to the fundus (top of your uterus) is approximately the same as the number of weeks along you are? So my uterus is almost 33 inches, which makes me right on track for an on-time baby. She also thinks I’m insane for complaining. Why would I want to be huge? The truth is, I am huge. But I’m huge in my ass. And my boobs and face and arms and thighs. I’m just not huge in my belly. I’m just going to keep telling myself that most of this is water weight that will come right off after I give birth. Let the pregnant woman live in denial.

E also had a doctor’s appointment today, his yearly once-over from the military to make sure he’s still fit to serve. He came home with a box of eye drops and this was our conversation:
Me: What’s the in the bag?
E: Eye drops. Apparently there’s something wrong with my eyes and they don’t produce enough moisture.
Me: Are you saying your tears are broken? You physically can’t cry?
E: Yeah I guess.
Me: So you’re dead inside.

I’m afraid if you don’t understand why that’s hilarious we can’t be friends anymore (ahaha, Friends! Get it?!?) But here’s a hint just in case:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E0XSQ9s4SaY]

My husband has recently started calling me “Preggers”. I think he truly believes he totally made up the word and is the most clever, hilarious person alive. I fear if he keeps it up, the last part of that statement might cease to be true.

The lactation consultant (did you know that was a thing? someone’s actually job is teaching you to lactate correctly) from my hospital just canceled the breastfeeding preparedness class I was supposed to attend tonight due to weather. I’ve heard so many breastfeeding horror stories, including one woman who said her nipple almost FELL OFF, that I figure any advice I can get ahead of time will help. Plus the hospital loves handing out free stuff when you take classes and I am all about that.

Class is rescheduled for next week. I’ve heard having a partner who supports you is a major factor in successful breastfeeding, and I know in theory E is VERY supportive. We’ll see how supportive he actually is when it comes to talking about nipples and colostrum and mastitis and let-down and nursing techniques for two hours. I’m not sure even my own mother is THAT excited about this baby.

I feel not huge today. Less pregnant. Not in a worrisome way, the baby is still his usually active self, (He recently found my left hip bone and likes punching it. Having your bones punched from the inside is freaking weird) but I am no longer wallowing and moaning and rolling and whining. I have spent a good chunk of my day admiring my belly in the mirror and thinking what a shame it is it’s too cold to wear cute maternity clothes. I even looked at my new Victoria’s Secret catalog without any thoughts of arson.

I finally took out my belly button ring yesterday. I figured with the amount of crap I planned to eat during the Superbowl I was in serious danger of popping it out right through my skin. And a trip to the emergency room might interrupt my busy pants-busting schedule. Nothing gets between me and my 7-layer dip.

Taking out my belly ring actually makes me really sad. I’ve had it for almost 8 years. Getting it was my first big act of rebellion against my parents and a physical reminder of a super fun weekend with my friend Erin. It’s like officially recognizing I will never be 19 again. You would think that moment in my life might have come much sooner on a more momentous occasion. 21st birthday? Alcohol poisoning doesn’t really make you feel very grown up. Getting engaged? I was too excited to remember my own name let alone my age. College graduation? A trained monkey would have no problem completing my degree, and probably with a better GPA. Since getting married I’ve done a lot of very grown up things – getting a mortgage and car insurance my parents don’t pay for were big ones – but I still haven’t felt as old as I did when I took out that ring.

I know having a baby isn’t necessarily a grown up thing to do. God knows plenty of people procreate without any plans to be responsible. But giving up that little piece of my teenage self is my first tiny act of sacrifice in what I know will be a long line of putting this baby’s needs and wants before my own. But right now baby wants a piece of the chocolate peanut butter cake one of our friends brought over last night, and that is one need I am more than happy to meet.