I use that phrase, “__ weeks pregnant,” because it’s what I’m always googling when I want to learn something about what’s happening in my pelvis. It’s such a terrible search term, though, because it pulls up all the wrong kinds of website: Babycenter, et al. What I really want is either a scientific and detailed explanation of fetal and maternal development/processes, or a personal blog written by someone at the same stage of life/pregnancy as I am. Anyway—

almost 18 weeks

 

I’m kind of shocked by how unlarge I look in this photo. In real life, I’m much larger. Marshall laughed at me when I was leaving the bedroom, a few hours ago, and when I said, “What?” all smiling and ready for a good joke, he said “You just did the pregnant waddle.” Then he mimicked me, and the part of me that has retained my generous sense of humor about my appearance laughed till I cried, and the other part didn’t make a peep. It was hilarious. I feel roughly the size of a barge, and—come to think of it—I do eat five dozen eggs every morning, that help me get large. Actually the most I eat for breakfast is three, but I sometimes have a quiche for dinner. Eggs. They’re good, man. Cheaper protein source than meat, and almost as exciting.

Also, this photo was chosen to upload onto the internet because, of the ten or so Marshall took, it shows least side-fat-ripple, and least face. Oh, and least nip. I didn’t put a bra on till after lunch, today, and there was another good photo in the bunch but it got nixed because of the thinness of the shirt and the apparentness of an unruly nip. Am I embarrassing anyone? Then go read someone else’s blog.

So today is Saturday, and I’m devoting it to A) showing the world the beautiful custom baby book with peony applique that is finally done, see below, and B) reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Sighhh. It’s wonderful to have a day off to read and read and read. What is it about these books, anyway? This is my second time through the series, and since I’m not reading them as quickly as I did the first time, I’m noticing things I didn’t notice before. Like, what a sense of humor J. K. Rowling seems to have had about boys going through puberty. To me, that is like, one huge country full of chaos and wars and unknown languages. She writes, in this book, about a kind of magical beings called “veela,” who appear as beautiful women who enchant men (and boys) with their dancing. Whoa, right? Like the Sirens, their enchantment can be avoided if you plug your ears or close your eyes. Also like the Sirens, I think, when angered—or whatever—they turn into scaly, harpy-like things, violent, inhuman. Their “true nature.” Arthur Weasley, one of the dads in the book, says to his sons and Harry, when the veela “mascots” at the Quidditch World Cup turn into fire-throwing harpies and start attacking the opposite team’s mascots, “And that, boys, is why you should never go for looks alone!” Ecclesiastical, as much as the situation is mythic: often, the beautiful and alluring has a violent true nature, and will devastate those caught up by it. And the fourteen-year old boys at the center of the story, Harry and Ron, start learning to manage themselves in the presence of the pretty girls they’re around—though it does take Ron longer than Harry. Just interesting.

But I hope I’m having a girl, because how do you raise boys? But all signs are pointing to girl, so.

I leave you with a photo of Thursday’s handiwork:

laura peony bb closeup

 

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