I grew out of my leggings this week. I stupidly thought this would never happen. They're stretchy, they have a nice wide waistband that can be pulled over the belly or folded under it...what could go wrong? Plenty. Even something stretchy enough to accommodate 30 extra pounds can't necessarily take on 30 pregnancy pounds. Pregnancy weight is not normal weight, I keep reminding myself. (I haven't gained 30 lbs, but I'm well on my way, thanks in part to several helpings of Rob's birthday pie.)
I am either not very big at all or just about to pop, depending on who's observing. As I waited to see my midwife on Wednesday, the woman next to me asked when I was due. I told her and she replied, "You're little for August! Where are you hiding it?" The very next morning, the mother of one of Westley's preschool classmates declared me to be "HUGE." I'm sure she meant it in the nicest way possible.
Size-wise, I feel Just Right—very at peace with being full of baby—most of the time. And then I try to roll over in bed. Or paint my toenails. Or I see a picture of myself before.
When Rob snapped this photo last summer, I thought my body looked impossibly large. Not that you can even see any body under all that drapey fabric! Now I want to punch myself in the non-existent gut because, come on! Are you KIDDING me?!
New this week: melasma, which I never got with Westley. Just another check in the "this pregnancy is totally different" column. Maybe there's some truth to that old wives' tale about girls stealing their mothers' looks in utero; I truly don't remember my skin ever looking this bad. Pimples, dry patches, the odd case of hives now and then...and now discoloration that my beloved mineral foundation doesn't quite conceal. Thank goodness for natural light!
Appearances aside, I'm really enjoying the middle stretch of this pregnancy (except on the days when I hate everyone and everything). I love wearing maxi dresses and cardigans all the time, and eating eleventy-skillion snacks a day, and carrying my water bottle around with me everywhere like a cylindrical, BPA-free security blanket. Whenever I remember that there's another person—my daughter—growing inside me, I'm amazed all over again. I learned at my recent midwife appointment that the clicks we hear on the Doppler along with the baby's heartbeat are the valves opening and closing. I have a daughter, and she has heart valves! Rob can feel and see her movements easily now. Sometimes in the evenings I sprawl out on the bed and we watch bellyvision together.