Fat and Happy

Hello there Karma, glad to meet you.
So I may have bragged a few weeks ago that I was stretch-mark free. Shoulda. Known. Better. I say that because the pregnancy gods are coming for me. In the last week, my fingers have morphed into sausages and my face looks like it did in 5th grade when my brothers so lovingly called me Pork Chop, P.C. for short. (It’s OK, I wasn’t too traumatized). Anyway, with 4 weeks to go and my scale afraid I might smash it if it continues with its “inaccurate” readings, I still can’t complain. That’s because, despite my newfound fatness, I am happy. Really happy. Sometimes I get these short little powerful bursts of happiness that wash over me. I don’t know how else to describe it other than it feels like all is right with the world when they hit. Rob and I are so, so excited to meet this little girl who has called my belly home for the past 8 months. I want to know if she’ll look like her mom or her dad or the mailman – I kid! It seems like all I do these days is picture her in my head, picture Rob holding her and picture her sleeping peacefully in her crib. (For those of you who are thinking how unrealistic I am, please restrain yourselves. I’m not that naive, I just don’t want to picture 3 a.m. feedings, nasty blowout diaper changes or spit-up all over our new furniture). We also can’t wait to read books to her, sing to her, stare at her, marvel at her and love her like only a firstborn can be loved. June 20th people…it’s almost here!

My caption for the picture below comes from that story a kid tells while squeezing his face together…
“Hi. My name’s Chubby. My mom’s chubby. My dad’s chubby. My whole family’s chubby.”