Today marks the start of my 36 week being pregnant. This time next week, I’ll be considered full term. This time in a month, mark my word, I’ll still be pregnant. Seriously, just you watch, I bet I don’t see this baby until we’re well into our 41st week.
I’ve come to the point in this pregnancy where clothes just don’t fit anymore. And while I love to joke about pants being totally overrated and completely optional, they’re really not overrated at all, nor optional if you live in Indiana during the winter. In fact, pants are so NOT overrated, that I would love to wear two pairs at once, just to stay warm.
But you see, pants refuse to let me wear them, and if I do manage to get them on, they end up committing suicide.
And then we have the “maternity” tops. While my pants won’t stay up, my tops won’t stay down. Tops that I bought specifically to cover my bulging flesh. See the problem I got going on here?
Pants down, shirts up.
My belly needs a scarf.
Welcome to the seedy underbelly of the 9th month. The place where young stretchmarks feed off old and tired stretchmarks.
Where you’re bound to whine and complain a bit, no matter how grateful and content your heart and soul really is.