Oh, Dear...

Whenever Chase is trying to concentrate on something, sometimes I can hear her mumble to herself, "dear, dear, dear." I think it's about one of the cutest things she ever does, and I found myself mumbling an explicit version of this while trying to get dressed this afternoon (yes, I was getting dressed at 3 p.m.--don't judge).

I use the word "trying" because it was.

I'm supposedly about 6 weeks along but I feel about 12 and look about 16. Something happened last night that caused all my shirts and pants to shrink in the closet. Even Wil noticed it when he came home today. I swear I did not pig out and had a huge feast for the past 24 hours; in fact, it's been quite the opposite as I am already experiencing a moderate wave of morning sickness. I'm thinking that with my already separated stomach that never recovered from the last go round, there's really no muscle to hold down a growing baby pod? Sure I'm a bit pudgier than a few years ago, but I certainly did not have a beer gut until this morning. I was mentally prepared to be in full maternity battle gear as soon as the pregnant week hits double digit, but judging from the 2-minute struggle to button my pants and the following minute it took me to realize that there was no way I could pick up the baby AND breathe while wearing my favorite trouser jeans, I have a feeling that I'll be digging out from the basement my favorite Old Navy maternity jeans by this time tomorrow.

After this baby factory is closed, I'm going to get one of those surgery that will stitch back my stomach muscles together, but not until I have used it enough time to guilt my children with it. So very happy now that the vanity in me made me take lots of pictures of my skinny self with a flat 4-pack abs in bikinis. Have I made you feel all icky yet? Just in time to say good night! Wish me luck tomorrow so that I won't throw up on the Italian Visa person.