Nineteen Weeks

Now that Thanksgiving has passed and I can be done feeling guilty for all the things I should be thankful for but am not always (including but not limited to our lovely-but-not-suiting-my-needs house and our lush and private but baby-death-trap-ish yard), my spirits have lifted slightly. I’m not saying that I’m going to go out and become a cheerleading coach or motivational speaker, but everything today feels slightly less pointless than it did last week. Maybe everything is just as pointless as it was before, but I’ve stopped thinking about it, which is an improvement. I'm less blue and more, uh, periwinkle, I guess.

I’m still not wild about my “Is she plump or pregnant?” (when wearing pants and a shirt because CLEARLY I'm pregnant when wearing a dress!) body and find myself weirdly looking forward to being hugely preggers if only so that people will stop telling me I don’t look pregnant. As a friend from my mom’s group put it the other day, “You don’t look pregnant—you just look like a regular American.” Um…thanks?