39 weeks and 98 degrees

Well, blame Whimsy.

She wanted another damn picture of the belly that will take over the whole damn universe and here it is.

I'm calling this the cats edition because that cat right there, The Leike--she howled the entire time that the Husband was taking these pictures as if to say, "Dude, the belly is blocking my sun, man!!! Move along Big Round Woman!"

There was another one with the Agnes in it but my face is all red and sweaty from post nap and it's just not that flattering to be 39 weeks pregnant when it's 98 degrees outside. "One is in a constant state of inelegance" (and if you can name who said that I will give you a big fat shout out).

That t-shirt is one of the last that still "fits" me and the pants are a recent acquisition of The Wife's nursing/postpartum line and that's just how excited she is to be POSTpartum, she's already busted them out. As you can see we're blaming the Boy for straining the confines of conventional maternity wear. The doc at my last appointment estimated that he's veering towards 8 pounds which doesn't sound like much (it's one half of the Leike), but that veering towards 8 pounds is cooking me from the inside out.

Just for comparison, here's how far we've come:
The belly 12 weeks pregnant.
Ahhh, the good ol' days. I could wear normal pants. I could sleep on my back without threat of brain damage to my child. I could roll over in bed without causing a minor event on the richter scale. I could go longer than 2 hours between bathroom visits. I could basically eat whatever I wanted in whatever quantities instead of minimeals of bland bland bland food.

In case you haven't noticed, we're quite eager for this boy to come out and be an independently functioning member the family. It's a tough call who is more impatient, the Husband or myself. The Husband keeps rubbing my belly and saying things like "Come out and play Boy!" And I keep rubbing my belly and saying things like, "If you want any more ice cream you have to come out and grow up! I'm not giving you any more you cheeky little freeloader!"

I know. It's a toss up who the crazier parent is at this point.