Da Belly: 38 Weeks

And in the 38th week of the reign of the Thomas (hey...another reason to love the name Thomas is how royal it sounds. If he wants to grow up to be the king of something....or reign over something other than me, he totally can.) the mother did weep exceedingly for many reasons most of which cannot be adequately described.

But there were also lots of moments of loud laughter. One of which was due to the inflection of Josh's voice as he sat on the floor, looked up at me (and my belly) and said "Whoa. When did that happen?"

It's funny because he was actually surprised. Genuinely shocked that I was "suddenly so huge". It's OK he still loves me.

Wanna know what else happened in the 38th week?

I probably gained 5 pounds in each foot. They get huge (by the end of the day). So huge that Josh sticks his finger in them to make a dent and the dent sticks. I'm not talking like "you can still tell he poked it for the next 3 seconds if you look close and count the fact that it's lighter there than everywhere else" I'm talking like 2 minutes before the indent has popped back out to normal. I'm talking about swelling so big that my feet are bigger around than my calves (I measured). I'm talking about swelling that I makes me do a doubletake every time I catch a glimpse. I'd try to make a joke about a blimp or something, but the swelling may have moved to my brain and I can't think of anything.

Actually this week I really did start gaining some serious weight for the first time this pregnancy. Up until last week I had gained a whopping total of 6 pounds overall. Keep in mind I gained like 50 pounds in the 2 years we were trying to get pregnant....I'm calling that "baby weight" anyway. I'm pretty sure I gained 3 pounds just this weekend.

Baby Thomas took up break dancing. That's the only explanation for the constant head spins that seem to occupy so much of his time these days.

Today, for the first time ever I sorta feel like it wouldn't be the end of the world if he came now. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm ready. It's not like I have nothing left to do. It's just that if he decided he was done growing in there and he wanted to come now I wouldn't spend the next 20 years of his life wondering if it's my fault he's so screwed up because our house was such a mess. It'll be for some other reason instead. That's good progress right?