Taken at 29 weeks:
I wish people would stop telling me I look small (well, except for the girl at Starbucks who upon handing me my chai exclaimed that “holy moly you’ve gotten SO BIG!”), because the 25 pounds of baby and baby-related stuff I’m carrying around (did you know you gain about four pounds of just blood? Your blood volume doubles!) certainly makes me feel like a Mack truck. Especially when I try and hurl myself out of bed.
Also, recent activity points to gestation of feral cat, not baby. A feral cat who has been trapped in a bag and is fighting his way to get out at all costs.
Or, you know, future World Cup soccer star. In which case, keep pummeling my insides, baby boy. Mama would love a closet full of Louboutins.