That's where we are today, folks. The official "giant lump" portion of the breeding cycle.
As most of my maternity pants are hand-me-downs from people who actually possess perfectly rounded asses and hips with which to keep them aloft, they all now require too much hitching to be worn during a regular work/running after kids day. Even though it seems silly to be buying new pants for a mere six-week period, that's the only way to keep my sanity. And whoever jumps on the fertility grenade next (*cough* Dee *cough* Djinn *cough* Little Flower *cough*) will benefit.
Accordingly, Leelo and I will be off to the knocked-up ladies' store this afternoon while Seymour graciously shepherds Iz to karate and to see the incredibly numerous shorebirds at the end of Redwood Shores Parkway and Radio Road.
Yesterday I went to see my OB for a regular check up. Everything is dandy. I asked her if I had any restrictions. She said no. So I told her that that was great, because we were going to Dizzyland for two days next week during Iz's break.
She started spluttering and said "I meant that I don't want you going anywhere more than 90 minutes away."
"But I'm not flying, I'm driving"
"But what if you have the baby down there! You'll be 35 weeks!"
"They have hospitals down there. We'll be fine."
"But...but...I won't be there!"
Isn't she sweet? I just love her.
As I was leaving, she glared at me and said "You're going anyway, aren't you?"
I just smirked. We'll be fine.
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