Over the course of the weekend, it has happened:
My beer belly has finally started to demand its own zip code.
Well, perhaps it’s not as dramatic as all that, but if I just sit or stand relaxed, there is definitely something that looks like I’ve been working my physique out at the all-you-can-eat trough often. It doesn’t look like a delicate and taut baby belly. It looks like I’m delicately turning into a male, age 45, who could have purchased himself some stock of Budweiser or Molson’s and has the gut to prove it.
I’m not sure what to make of this, but from what I hear the flubber is rather on the normal side.
Another thing that is starting to make itself known a bit more are the flutters. They are very very subtle, but every once in a while it feels like someone is blowing bubbles on my lower abdomen. They kind of come and go with much subtlety, and frankly I’m a bit non-plussed. So far, everything about being pregnant has been rather on the grandiose side –hyperbolic tiredness, gargantuan appetite, King-Kong moods, Herculean flatulence, Godzilla burps, Liberace mannerisms– so the dainty fluttering can only mean one thing:
Do you remember that scene in Jurassic Park when the kids and Sam Neill and Jeff Goldblum are in the Ford Explorer and they notice the water glasses shuddering gently?
Do you remember what happens afterwards?
Exactly. I am pregnant with a Tyrannosaurus rex!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Okay, maybe not. But this does feel a little ominous. That and the weird stabby pains I’ve been getting lately. Either my child in there got a hold of a Swiss Army Knife, or he’s got some bony elbows!
But enough of me kvetching about pregnancy symptoms. It’s almost week 16!
(In which the true reason why I don’t fit around here is highlighted. Not that I think I’d fit in Rome that much better but it’s got to be a better fit than Honolulu).
You Belong in Rome
You’re a big city girl with a small town heart
Which is why you’re attracted to the romance of Rome
Strolling down picture perfect streets, cappuccino in hand
And gorgeous Italian men – could life get any better?