In last week’s post, I shared that I had an ever-so-slight hint of a baby belly beginning to show. This week? It is a slight hint no longer. It is an in-your-face (if you’re a small child or a member of a Pygmy tribe) announcement that “Hey! There’s a baby in that lady’s belly!”
The sudden growth of my midsection over the last week came as a surprise since, when I was a first-time pregnant gal, it seemed like years before anyone could tell there was a small person—and not just bloating from the previous nights’ Dominos’ pizza-thon—lurking beneath my clothes.
With Jacob, I was five months along before I swapped my regular wardrobe for maternity clothes, and I was thrilled to be showing—finally. I recall having my hands perpetually glued to my belly in the hopes that others would notice my blossoming bump. (As often as not, they asked if I was feeling okay. Baby bump fail.)
This time around, my response was more like “Already, really?!” when I noticed that buttoning my size 8 jeans and breathing became like the “keep your eyes open and sneezing at the same time” dare: Impossible.
And, unlike my first go ‘round, I won’t be trying out the hand-positioning trick again. I’d prefer people not notice my baby bump just yet, if only so that I don’t have to endure an additional two months of random-stranger belly molestations. (What can I say? I’m a three-feet-of-personal-space kind of girl.)
All things considered, though, I can’t say that I mind packing a little extra padding early. It means I get to embrace the (wonderful! glorious! stretchy!) world of elastic waistbands that much sooner. After all, what could be better than running around in sweat pant-like comfort every single day without looking like a total slob?
Not a thing. Except perhaps a Dominos’ pizza-thon.