30 Weeks

Thirty! It’s as though my pregnancy has reached actual adulthood. (Because, let’s be honest, the 20s are just not nearly as grown-up as they used to be.) And, people, let me tell you, I loved turning 30. I felt as if I suddenly had a handle on this whole being alive thing. I was very much single, living alone with Reese and Puppet in the cruddiest apartment in all the land, and managing a hectic and tragic-to-the-point-of-hilarity dating life. I was surrounded by amazing girlfriends. Two days before my 30th birthday, I ran my first 50-mile trail race. The next day, I threw myself a party in the backyard of the cruddy apartment. We dragged random old furniture from the storage area of our duplex out into the yard. I made a big pot of chili and we poured lots of wine. There were friends, coworkers, family, babies, and lots of little kiddos to help me open my presents. It was pretty much the greatest. I was smitten with being 30.

The day before I turned 30:

That was almost three years ago, and seriously, you guys? My 30s have been pretty darn great. Right around the time of that party, one of said amazing girlfriends told me she had my future husband all picked out. I googled him and thought he was neat. I also thought he had terrific legs. (I still do.) See?

A few months later, I met him and it turned out he was very neat! I eventually seduced him with my Scrabble and gimlet-mixing skills (it’s pretty much all I’ve got). A year later, I married him. And now we’re going to have a baby. So, yes, all great things started the year I turned 30.
And now my pregnancy is 30 (weeks). So, clearly, I have some pretty high expectations. (No, not really.) But it does mean that I’m super, really pregnant. Though people keep telling me that my pregnant immensity is quite unimpressive to them. *sadface* It is getting more impressive every day, though, and I think I’ll get them in the end. But before we get to that, Baby H! And his gigantic proportions! He is now roughly the size of a cabbage (though he’s not spherical, as far as I know). He’s apparently around three pounds and 16 inches long.

And if the sensation of my skin stretching beyond the bounds of sanity is any indication, I am also growing apace:

And because Mr. Puppet also wanted to share his belly, here’s an outtake from before I wiped the schmuck off the lens:

(Apparently, if you want your pictures to be not foggy, you should not maintain a layer of schmuck on the lens. Seriously, the things I learn!)

My ever-dwindling wardrobe also confirms continued growth... the subset of my shirts that dependably cover the belly is shrinking every day. And two of my dresses are now shirts. (No, I’m not kidding.) I hope that tunic and leggings thing is still in, because I am planning to rock it this fall.

Number of people who have touched the belly: 19

Baby’s favorite music: anything his dad is playing for him on the guitar... little guy is very into his own private dance party

Baby’s favorite foods: still grapes, and ice cream, and peanut butter, but also last night there was a bite of steak so delicious that I wanted to shove everyone else away from the buffet table so that any remaining steak would be ALL MINE

Cryptonomicon progress: more than halfway!

Number of miles we “ran” this week: 4
Likelihood that those were our last running miles: high (the run itself was fine, but oh my lord why do I now feel like I rode a galloping horse all day?)

Question of the week: Should I tag along on Jasper’s 3-day business trip to Paris when I’m 34 weeks enormously pregnant? We have miles to cover the ticket and his work covers the room, so the crazy isn’t about money. It’s more... Am I the sort of girl who jets off for 48 hours in Paris? I want to be that girl... And also, can I wear leggings in Paris or will the Parisians chase me out with torches for my sartorial offense upon their fine city? And what if I wear boots with my leggings?


Photo of my “future husband” and his sexy legs: Ron Little
Photo of cabbage: Baby Center