39 weeks, and it finally happened

Well, at 39 weeks, it finally happened. I became that pregnant lady. You know the one I'm talking about. The one who walks around the neighborhood wearing her husband's same old clothes day after day. Oh excuse me, did I say walk? I actually don't walk any more. I waddle. Slowwwwly. Because I'm that pregnant lady these days. And you should see how long it takes me to ascend the two flights of stairs to our apartment! Sam thinks it's hilarious. I also started complaining. I was pretty good up until the end, but now every other sentence starts with "I don't mean to complain, but... " followed by a hefty complaint, or two, or even three if I'm on a roll that day. Maybe it was inevitable, or maybe I'm just bad at waiting for my body to go into labor. But here I am, being that pregnant lady over here like it's a full-time job!


Really though, things aren't that bad, and I hardly have anything to complain about. We had an ultrasound last week, and baby girl looks like she's doing great. She was already measuring at 8lbs more than a week ago, which means I'm bracing myself for a 10 or 11 pound baby (huge babies run on both sides of the family). Bring it on, I say! At this point, we're just so excited for her to get here. And you should have seen her chubby cheeks! I about died.


Sam and I are trying to think of little things to do together, mini dates to go on as we wait. I go on three or four-mile walks each morning, and I've been able to fit in lunch dates and crafting time like I never have before. It's been great, and I'm sure I'll look back wistfully on these days of free time and reading and naps.


But at the same time.... if you want to tell me how to induce labor, or maybe leave a little offering to the gods of labor and delivery for me, I won't complain. We're ready! Come on out, baby girl!

P.S. It was really windy when we took these pictures, so excuse my crazy hair and weird faces.