Another week gone by. Week 25 comes to a close by shaking its jazz hands obnoxiously in your face. Well, my face, specifically, in the form of a big, fat head cold. A head cold that is sitting directly on my eyes and nose. In fact, I feel like my big belly is crushing my face. Yes, that’s what I feel like. I’m not usually a complainer when it comes to being sick, but I swear, right now you would think I had a Man Cold the way I’m going on and on about it. I just feel crappy, crap, crapster, and since I’m still trying to remain drug-free during this pregnancy, spritzing saline solution up my nose is proving to do nothing more than make me gag on salt water running down my throat. Hopefully the cold will pass soon, and in the meantime, I will fantasize about a Nyquil-induced sleep and contemplate finally using that weird Neti pot. (More on that tomorrow.)

Weight. According to my bathroom scale, 19 pounds in total, including another seven pound weight gain this month. I’ll have the official weigh-in tomorrow at my doctor’s, but my scale as proven to be pretty accurate. I’m still taken aback when I see the numbers rise, but my mentality about it has shifted a bit. I’m a bit more comfortable each time I see a new number and can pretty much just shrug and think, well, he’s growing!

Sleep. Sleep? What sleep? I’m up at least twice a night now to use the bathroom and since rolling over now includes sort of a hurling motion, sleep is no longer and solid stretch of time. Especially with this head cold. I mean, uggggggggghhhhI can’t breathe, complain, complain, complain. I’m writing this post at 6:34 a.m. after lying awake in bed since 5, so that should tell you something. The silver lining to not sleeping is that I wake up to This Little Baby putting on a tap dance, and get to spend some time just lying there and feeling him. If he stays true to his nighttime routine when he’s outside the belly, he’s going to be up and ready to party at around both 1 and 4 a.m. Mamma hasn’t partied at 4 a.m. in quite a long time, but I’ll gladly put on my party shoes for him.

Movement. Speaking of tap dances, TLB is trying to rival Fred Astaire. He is active most of the day, except if I’m in the car. Maybe this means he’ll be a good car sleeper. Many people have spent time with their hands on the belly feeling him kick, and my sister spent a good amount of time yesterday just watching my stomach bounce. It’s pretty cool in an alien sort of way. He’s very still during my yoga class until the very end, when we lay perfectly still on our sides. That’ s when he wakes up and is all, “Hiiiii, Mom!!!” He also really likes it when we “om”, which means he must be a zen baby, right?

Yesterday, I was lying in bed when all of the sudden he spazed. It felt like what I imagine a flying squirrel taking flight looks like. Kind of a BAM! All limbs out! sort of feeling, pummeling me all over at once.

Am having baby, not squirrel. I think.

It made me gasp, then laugh and pull Michael’s arm around me, where he spent the next half hour just lying there feeling his son kick. The belly is cute and all, but nothing compares to feeling him move. Nothing.

Body. I haven’t really noticed any changes in what I think are stretch marks, and I’ll take it. (She says, clearly jinxing herself.) What I have noticed is the creepy one-sided belly button protrusion is continuing. I don’t know when it’s going to happen, but the right side is definitely about to pop out and say hello to the world. I mean, I can’t blame it, really. It’s been in seclusion for 27 years. I’d want to say, “Hello, World!” too.

I’m becoming more clumsy, as my center of balance has significantly changed, as well as my depth perception. I’m constantly bumping into things — and people — with my stomach. The other night I impaled myself on the corner of a pizza box while taking it into the kitchen. I bumped it into the banister and it bounced off and stabbed me in the gut. A quick Google search confirmed that no, you cannot dent your baby’s head with the corner of a pizza box while it’s in utero, stupid. (I’m pretty sure at least 11 of those 19 pounds are purely pizza and I will be disappointed this summer when I learn that I actually delivered a medium cheese pie and not, in fact, a baby.)

I’m providing Michael with endless amusement, at least, as I propel myself forward off the couch with a grunt, or need help getting up from a low sitting position. So, at least there’s that.

I can’t believe there’s only two weeks left until the third trimester, which means just over three months until we meet this little person. I really can’t wait.

Shoes still visible, only slight less so.

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