Baby Fat

I've reached the 15 week mark in my pregnancy. In layman's terms, that means I'm now in my fourth month. I'm also starting to show, only if you don't know I'm pregnant, I just look like I've been eating a few too many Dove ice cream bars for dessert (mmmm, delicious! And besides, the baby needs calcium, right?). I refer to this as the pudgy stage.

When I was expecting Spencer, I remember wanting to announce to everyone - strangers in the check-out line, folks in line at the bank, etc. - that yes, I was pregnant and not merely putting on a few pounds. A friend invited me to a pool party at a hotel. Somehow I managed to squeeze into a sun dress where the fabric stretched across my belly like the skin on a grape. I looked around at all the stylish women in bikinis sunning themselves by the pool and wished I could enlighten them as to why I was dressed the way I was and why I could not justify purchasing a maternity dress that I would wear exactly once. As if everyone was looking at me and silently judging. Those women were probably all worried about how they looked in their bathing suits.

The first time around, I was chomping at the bit to wear my newly purchased maternity clothes so I would look like a mom-to-be. Of course, by the end of my pregnancy I never wanted to see a single outfit again so sick was I of wearing the same thing day-in-and-day-out. This time I'm a bit more blithe. I'm still able to get away with wearing my low-waisted jeans, which I resisted purchasing for the longest time as I don't find them particularly flattering, but they've turned out to be surprising convenient for accommodating my expanding belly.

I'm trying to appreciate every moment of this pregnancy because I know this will be the last. I'm so incredibly lucky to have such an easy time of it. This in-between stage will soon pass and one day I'll look down and not be able to see my toes.