Baby fat

50 pounds. That's how much weight I've gained so far...and with seven weeks left to go I'm wondering if I won't tip the scales even more. I have a giddy addiction, anticipation, excitement - whatever you want to call it - about stepping on the scale at the midwives' office. Mentally calculating how much more of me (and Nou) there is since the last time I stepped on. 175 was the last word, last week.

My still-skinny legs and ankles creak audibly under the new weight and my belly pokes out daily ever further - bringing my balance and my sense of just how much space is available until I run into things into occasional chaos. I sprained a wrist at yoga the other day, trying to hold myelf up in a Trikonasana gone awry and my husband acts as both massage therapist and forklift more than anything else lately - helping me maneuver out of our king sized pillow top mattress as if from the bottom of a well with a big heave-ho and then very patiently rubbing out complaints from each set of joints.

I am SO pregnant it's not even funny but loving every minute of it, and then some.