This week has just been more of the same. I truly don’t understand how I could get any bigger or more uncomfortable, although I am acutely aware that both of these things are bound to happen. Here are the pictures.
Week 31 in my pregnancy with Liam (Again, someone needed desperately to alert me that horizontal stripes while this pregnant was just inviting people to whistle circus songs behind my back as I waddled through life.):
Week 31 in this pregnancy with Baby Girl (I never thought it would be possible for me to be as big as I was last time. Apparently I was woefully mistaken and I’m in a race with my former pregnant self to see who can look the most deformed (I’m not sure if the winner is the most or least deformed — I’ll need time to work out the details). I’m hoping that by the time I have to get into a bathing suit in a couple of weeks and some dresses for a wedding (for which I will be insanely under-dressed) I can still do so without being arrested for indecent exposure (or disturbing the peace as small children run shrieking from the sight of me). I make no promises and I hope that no one kicks me out of the pool or the wedding for wearing a garbage bag, because by that time it could truly be my only option…):
I’m out (literally).