Technically, 16 weeks starts tomorrow, but we’ll take care of this picture business today.
Uh oh, a new angle. Watch out, I’m getting fancy on ya! (Whoa, I need a hair cut.)
Nothing new to report in the baby growing department, except that Justin and I are a mere 8 days from finding out the sex — !!! This needs to hurry up and happen, so I know whether to start stocking up on things of this nature or not:
WOW, the weeks are really zooming by! I can’t believe I’m already at 15!
And Shea, to answer your question about where I’m taking these pictures…
I sit at work some days and having nothing to do but think about being pregnant and how freaking huge my tummy is getting. So then I take a little trip to our ghetto bathroom and snap a low-quality cell phone picture to share with the world. Why I don’t wait for Justin to take a good one with his expensive camera, I don’t know. Maybe I should start… these make me look pasty.
P.S. Why don’t they have Fun Mum in America!? I want this top SO BAD, but with shipping it comes out to about $80.00. Le sigh.
I attempted to smile this week — imagine that! And believe it or not, that is an almost identical, but very different purple shirt than the one I wore at 12 weeks. Not sure why I would care if you saw me in the same shirt twice, 2 weeks apart… but … I don’t know, it’s just different. hah. That is the same undershirt though, because it’s leopard print and I’m kind of obsessed with anything to do with animal print, if you haven’t noticed by now. I wear that at least 6 days out of the week. Kidding (but not really). Umm, moving on.
How my chesticles have almost completely disappeared in the past seven days is a mystery to me, but I actually don’t mind as long as they come back in the next week or two. I and my aching back could use a break from those death bags… and a break from the eyes of every male over 15 years of age. Seriously, sometimes I just want to just blurt out “I’M CARRYING A PEACH-SIZED FETUS COVERED IN FURRY HAIR, YOU DON’T WANT THIS, MAN!”
Oh, and I scared myself for a second when looking at this picture, thinking, “where in the heck is my wedding ring?!?”… but the genius in me then realized I took this picture in the bathroom mirror. Mirror = reflection = opposite of reality = messes with my head, but I understand it now. Thank you, science.
Another awkward facial expression (how depressed do I look? I promise I’m a happy person!), ginormous boobies and an almost-13-week baby bump for your enjoyment. Or maybe just for mine… that’s cool too.
Anyone have stylish/affordable maternity outfit suggestions? My wardrobe is dwindling… I can’t fit into my small-mediums anymore!! :(
Edit:
I was just told that my cheeks are looking chubbier than normal. Thanks, lady.
This is me leaving our wedding over a year and a half ago. Had Justin known that just a few hours later, I would be on a full-blown mission to procreate, he may have re-evaluated this whole marriage thing. I kid. I’m pretty sure he knew what he was getting himself into… Somewhat.
I have always loved babies — they are the sweetest, best-smelling little things — and as soon as Justin and I were married I began having visions of us with our own little ones (they were mighty cute in those visions, I must say. They’re coming from some pretty good genes, apparently.)
Anyway, as much as I wanted a baby of my own, the desire to be a cute pregnant lady was almost as strong. I remember the countless conversations with Stephanie, discussing the importance of continuing to wear high heels throughout pregnancy… I still strongly believe in this, by the way. See, I had this preconception about pregnant women. At the time, they seemed like the 2.0 versions of themselves with their glowing skin, thick hair, cute clothes… I absolutely couldn’t wait to experience all of that and be equally as adorable!
Let’s fast forward to Spring, 2008. I’m pregnant everybody! Yay! Any day now, I’m going to have that enviable pregnancy glow, Victoria’s Secret model-status luxurious hair, be prancing about town in my 4″ stilettos, and showing off my sweet baby bump. Uhhh, wrong. Yes, being pregnant is wonderful and exciting and the thought of a little life growing inside of me is enough to make me want to cry at times… but I am definitely NOT the Morgan 2.0 I had always envisioned. Here’s a little glimpse into a day of this little pregnant lady’s life…
Stumble out of bed after restless night’s sleep… managed to make it through another 8 hours of tossing and turning due to the most irritating form of cold/hot flashes I’ve ever experienced. Make up your mind, body! Do you want the three layers of blankets, or the tank top and panties? Frustrating, let me tell you. Not to mention the 17 trips to the bathroom to pee (I don’t remember drinking 50 gallons of water, thank you), where it takes on average, 3 full minutes to empty my bladder because it dribbles out SO FREAKING SLOWLY. TMI? Should I have given a disclaimer before trapping you into reading this? Well, I’m about to go into an in-depth anatomy discussion, so the weak have been warned.
Hop in the shower, take a look at my not-so-flat stomach and realize I can no longer see it as easily as I was once able to. I have these … things in the way. Since when do you blow up 2 full cup sizes in a month? Seriously. It wouldn’t be so bad if the thought of their post-deflation state wasn’t so terrifying… I have a feeling these babies have hit their peak and are on a downhill slope from here on out. This saddens me… I’m too young to sag!
Look in the mirror to see thin, limp, lackluster hair and a brand new patch of broken-out skin (topping off the lovely albino-ness that is consuming my face, since I haven’t allowed myself to tan since finding out).
Outfit choosing time… my favorite! Let’s see which of my tops makes me look least like a stuffed sausage. The one that I used to use as a lounge-around shirt because it was so big and comfortable? Fatty, for the win!
Breakfast… eww. May barf at the mere sight of eggs. Off to work.
Four hours, a dead co-worker (don’t mess with me, man), and exactly 83 trips to the bathroom later, the craving for Mexican food sets in. YES, I can eat! … Uh, nevermind. Apparently the toilet enjoys burritos as well.
Feeling good, feeling good. Was able to consume a cherry Slurpee, 5000 calories worth of salt and vinegar chips and Subway sandwich in one sitting without puking it up. Woman of steel, right here. A little Office, LOST, reading up on what variety of fruit my baby compares to today and I’m off to bed. And the cycle repeats.
I’m such a Debbie Downer, right? Gotta love these hormones. Well, at least from the ankles down I look stylish.
A 20-something year old mother to the strongest-willed little girl in the universe. Wife to the handsomest geek. Reader of teenage romance novels. Lover of all things Anthropologie. Just gave birth to baby #2 and happy to tell you all about my nutso new life as a stay at home mom.
