It feels like pregnancy has been a constant reality check for me. At this point, the “holy shit, I’m pregnant” moments have morphed into, “holy shit, we’re having a BABY” moments. They hit me about as frequently as my cravings for chocolate donuts. I’ll let your imagination do that math.
The other day, I was changing a few things on our baby registry and I realized that people are already buying things. Shower invitations haven’t even been sent yet. It’s madness. Baby girl has presents. Holy reality check, donut man.
Yesterday, I filled an entire page of my office notebook with doodles of our daughter’s name in various ink colors. And I work in design / marketing, so I have EVERY ink color. Suddenly, I was sitting there feeling like one of the stalker girls from junior high who would write “Mrs. <insert crush name>” all over their book covers. I was afraid I’d accidentally flip to that page in a meeting and people would wonder what the hell was wrong with me, so I ripped out the page and threw it away. Catch is mad at me for not taking a picture first.
The point of that whole tangent being that we have a DAUGHTER. One who is now considered medically viable! And she has a NAME. And presents. Because she is REAL. Holy shit, chocolate donuts, etc.
So here I am, 24 weeks (and some change) pregnant. I thought it might be time to finally share the bump. Shameless bathroom selfie warning! I happen to be wearing a particularly bump-friendly dress today, so you’re in luck that it actually looks like a bump. Most of the time, it just looks like I’ve gained back the 50 pounds I lost pre-pregnancy. Just this week, one of my coworkers said, “Wait, you’re PREGNANT?” I was in fine form (NOT) when I replied (in my best bitch voice), “Did you think I was just getting fatter?” Awkward.