The weeks roll on. And on.

As of this week I'm in the third trimester of pregnancy, and, to be more specific, the third trimester of the last pregnancy I will ever experience, because any further pregnancies would interfere big time with the kid-free trip to South America J and I have been planning for about five years. The trip that keeps getting pushed back

I've reached the magical stage where you go from feeling really great to feeling like, "Holy hell, I couldn't possibly get any more pregnant than this, could I?" But, the thing is, you've got roughly three months to go. Three MONTHS!

To be fair, I've been feeling good this time around, better than I did during the previous two pregnancies. I think a big part of that might be the fact that there isn't time to dwell on any annoying symptoms. With two children already, our life is too busy for that. It's not like when I was pregnant with Nora, and every spare moment not dedicated to work, or sleep, or eating ice cream sundaes could be utilized for thoroughly analyzing the full scale attack on my body. 

In all seriousness, I like being pregnant for the most part. But I'm also, you know, glad it's a temporary situation. 

I was scrolling through pictures on my phone today, and found one I sent my parents a few months ago, at 16 weeks. 


I mean, I'm looking at this now, and I'm not even sure this legally qualifies as pregnant. 

After, I didn't take any pictures of myself for awhile, at least not the kind pointing out my increasing size. I've never been a big fan of photo-documenting the process, but this time, the last time, I'm a little more eager to do so.

I had Nora, who has turned into a very enthusiastic photographer lately, take this picture outside our house a couple weeks ago, after I'd come home from my sister-in-law's bridal shower. My dad said it looked like some sort of commentary on American domestic life. Nora's good. Here I'm about 26 weeks.

That's a cupcake in the pink box on the stairs - a favor from the shower - and it's downright amazing that it came home intact considering I had it on the passenger seat next to me in the car for like 15 minutes. Willpower. Also, I'd eaten one and a half while I was there. 

Then, today, at a little over 28 weeks, I don't know, it's just suddenly  like, oh, ok! There's an enormous baby in there. And it's very difficult to shave my legs. Or walk up the stairs sometimes. 

Also, correct, we need to make the bed. 

From here on out there's no hiding my current condition. It's right in people's faces, sometimes literally. Like, the other day, I ran by the store on my way home to pick up a pound of coffee beans. Just a most certainly pregnant woman picking up coffee beans and nothing else. The woman ringing me up said, "I hope this isn't for you!" She was laughing, so I'm not sure how serious she was, but the implication was clear: You're so totally pregnant and pregnant people don't drink coffee, right?

I explained it by stating, "Oh, this is my third," and then realizing that didn't exactly answer the question, said, "Can't get through the day without it!" Then further clarified, in case she didn't get the point that I absolutely still drink coffee in the morning, lest I die. How else could you possibly get this body out of bed? "Yeah. It's for me."