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24 weeks. August is the size of a grapefruit.

Maybe I cry more in one week than you will for your entire infanthood. Maybe I say through laughs & tears that I’m too young for my body to make creaking noises. Maybe I moan and groan and pout more than I’d like to admit.  Maybe I have a love/hate relationship with my new body. Maybe I don’t want to ever not be pregnant again while simultaneously wishing I looked like I did in the Bahamas for the rest of my life. Maybe I smiled too much when the person behind me at Kroger saw the belly & pulled out my basket for me. Maybe I sent Jared a picture of me eating straight from the gallon tub of neapolitan to check up on the status of our “for better or worse” vow. Maybe he replied in the sweetest way possible and maybe I smiled myself to tears. Maybe I look at myself in the mirror even more than I did when I was 16. Maybe I wear jeggings as pants.
& Maybe this post is more about me than it is about you, Little A. Maybe I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that’s how I’ve been feeling. Me, me, me. I’m sorry.
But you can take this one up with your Daddy, he is way too good at making us feel like we are the only two people well one person & one person-to-be in the entire world. 

Important Disclaimer: I hope I do a good job of letting you know that any discomfort I feel is completely dominated by the pride of carrying you, my sweet son, around all day and the thoughts of our darling little family of three. And maybe the being able to indulge in cravings is just the cherry on top….(oOo cherries).