I am e-x-p-l-o-d-i-n-g.

Seriously. I feel as if when I am sitting, the growth of my stomach is on par with one of those accelerated images of a flower growing that we used to have to watch in science class. And, hard to believe since it’s only been about 16 months since I had Avery, but I’d forgotten the “gut checks” everyone does. Eying the belly before they even make eye contact with me, to gauge how much I’ve grown. I suppose this means I’ll quickly pass the-fat-chick-at-the-bar stage and go directly to, “Oh dear god when are you due?”


“Really? But you are so big.”

Awkward silence.

“Not to say you don’t look great…” followed by a pained look down at my belly.

Please don’t misunderstand, I am beyond thrilled that I have a life growing inside of me. I know that I am blessed, that said, there’s still an inevitable terror as you realize that your body is once again going to defy the laws of science and extend in ways that are nothing short of jaw dropping.

Notice in this picture the look on my face in the mirror. I just hadn’t realized the torpedoesque nature of my profile.