Over the past couple weeks, my stomach officially ballooned to an uncomfortable diameter, and my uterus is “at capacity” according to Dr. Roberts (also confirmed by the inklings of stretch marks that I noticed last week), so I took a few extra minutes this morning to put on makeup and stand in front of the mirror to take a cute progress photo.
After fifteen minutes of struggling with various poses, I gave up. In even the most flattering lighting, my eyes were weary, my face was puffy, and my jawline was fading into my neck. No matter how much sleep I get, I still look — am — exhausted.
Lately I’ve come to understand why scores of women online advise to get maternity photos taken before 36 weeks, aside from the fact that after that point your face starts to deteriorate into something that looks like one of the creepy “after” mugshots they show kids in DARE. I’m just 37 weeks, and already only about half of my clothes still fit. (Last week I whined to the doctor about painful cramping the day before, only to realize later that it was nothing more than my pants being too tight.) Also, mobility is kind of a problem. I don’t even remember what it feels like to not walk like I’m smuggling a grapefruit in between my thighs. I think 36 weeks is kind of the tipping point for what your body can handle. My body’s already deuced out and is just in survival mode right now.
In more positive news, Dr. Roberts confirmed that Leon is head-down and will likely be an average 7½ to 8 pound baby. Heart sounds good, measurements are good, and everything we needed to do to prepare for him is now finished. Just a few more weeks (if that) and he’ll be here! I can’t wait to see his little face!