I have been holding the front of my jeans together with a rubber band since I hit week twelve of this whole thing. A lovely little pregnancy trick that reinforces the feeling that I am not so slowly turning into an overly stuffed sausage. Not some light and delicious apple and chicken wurst , either. No. This feeling is definitely of the overstuffed headcheese variety. Unsettling. Today, that rubberband, having been put through more in its lifetime than is strictly fair, had reached it breaking point. Literally. Just popped right off. Disappeared in the abyss of Costco's concrete floor. It was one of the classiest moments of my life. I am officially giving myself permission to spend some serious money on maternity clothing. Margaret has no idea that she is going to be a big sister in a few months. Every time I tell her there is a baby in my tummy, she just looks mildly horrified. Like pizza didn't really sound great for lunch so I just went ahead and ate a whole baby. And now it is in my stomach. And I want her to know about it. (Come to think of it, I am now concerned that she only looks mildly horrified.) I was hoping that the confusion would be cleared up today when we went to our ultrasound appointment. It wasn't. She spent the entire time playing with toys. She also offered to give me her blankie so I could "SLEEP GOOD ON THE BIG BED!" I still don't know what she thought the ultrasound technician was doing to my stomach the whole time I was "SLEEPING ON THE BIG BED." Children are very accepting.
It was just a little magical getting another glimpse of our Viola on that tv screen today. Her brain and heart and spine all look just right. She has a button nose, wiggly toes and a pouty set of baby fish lips. I can't wait for her to meet Margaret. They will be lovely little friends. I can't wait for her to meet Riley. He is the best man I know. I can't wait for her to meet me. Burned dinners, messy hair and love.
It will be nice to belong to one more person.