I’m 17 weeks pregnant today. Woo! According to my thebump.com, Baby is now the size of an onion, but one would hope sweeter. His/her cartilage is turning to bone, and he/she, like Mama, is putting on some fat. I haven’t stepped on the scale recently, but just looking down at my belly confirms it: I’m finally gaining all the weight I didn’t gain in the first trimester. Not that I’m complaining, this is the only time in my life I’ll get to gain 20 pounds without feeling guilty.
In less exciting news, John is out of town this weekend, on a fishing trip with his dad and brother-in-law, which means I have a full weekend to pack uninterrupted as we are moving in something like 9 days. Ever since we got pregnant, I’ve been very antsy to move into a bigger place. I finally found an awesome condo in a great part of town, and the only downside (if you could call it that) was the May 1st move in date. So now I’m stuck packing up our entire existence, but I get to play the pregnancy card with moving, so I guess that’s fair.
I’m cutting this a little short tonight, partly because I’m afraid if I go on any longer I’ll start telling everyone about all the awful things my body is doing to me right now (I’ll save that for another day), but mostly because I really want to tuck into the Reese’s peanut butter cups I just bought and watch bad movies on Netflix.
At least I’m honest.