Squooosh

Oh my starry heavens. I am sooooo tired of sucking in my baby belly and I cannot wait until I am a full 12 weeks along next Wednesday, hear this little BOS' heartbeat and declare to the world that yes, I am indeed pregnant, and while I do have a nice layer of fat, it's BABY fat, I am not over dosing on Easter candy.

I walk around at work an uncomfortable mess of gas, heartburn, and smooshed belly. This poor kid, granted I know it's only about 5 millimeters long, but BOS has got to be wondering what is up, thinking that things weren't supposed to get this tight until the END of the pregnancy, not the beginning.

Little BOS, I love you, and I am not trying to squish you on purpose. Momma is scared to announce your presence to the world until she hears your little heartbeat whooshing with her very own ears.

On the plus side, I am still fitting into all non-maternity pants and I am one week away from being out of the first trimester. Score. (And if this is commonplace for all mothers during their second pregnancy where their children will be NINETEEN MONTHS apart, please let me just go ahead and bask in the light of my regular pants, mmmkay? Thanks. Because Lord only knows if I will ever be able to get back into them.)