Oh bla di oh bla dah

Here I sit at 15 and a half weeks. Content. Happy. I apologize for my absence but it’s hard to come up with material when I have a history of “Help! Freaking! Panic!” posts that turn out to be nothing.

Babymoon was nice but in no way satisfying. I had a hard time relaxing until the last pool day when it occurred to me that I was wasting my child free vacation under an umbrella. Now I know why women wait. I still have six months to go and I keep planning more getaways. This is it, this is our last trip. “Let’s go to Chicago for the weekend to see the Cubs and dine with Rick Bayless!” How about a day trip to the mountains. “We don’t hike but let’s bring our sixteen pound pup. He’d like it. In fact, it was his idea!” The weather is finally nice and we’re just as close to the ocean as we are the mountains. “We’ve never been to the shore. Let’s go swimming. Eat fresh crab. Sit on a front porch with a glass of lemonade.”

I know I am going to totally refute this claim in a few weeks, but I totally popped. It’s no longer pudge, but a real belly. I’d post a picture, but then I wouldn’t be the only one refuting my claim. Almost all pants are now maternity, and those that are not are under the strain of a hair band. My shirts are stretched to the max too. Because of my build, I was never able to wear empire waist tops or shirts before. I didn’t want to look pregnant when I wasn’t. Now I regret only purchasing fitted tops. I have absolutely nothing to wear in this interim phase. Sure, I have “popped,” but maternity shirts look like tents. Whoever designs maternity clothes needs to learn that working women need more clothes than loud printed graphic shirts. And what working pregnant woman care wear a plunging neckline?

We’re being spoiled now. I have three standing offers for a baby shower. I don’t have enough friends or family to support THREE and I don’t know if the interested parties are folks that can successfully collaborate. I might have to employ the pregnant crazies and hormone tears to get out of this one. And woe is me, my mom offered to buy our crib. Somehow I don’t think she’d fly for the beautiful Restoration Hardware ensemble. She’s a little more practical than I am.

I’m alive. I am breathing and my baby is safe. I am ever so grateful.