And yes, at eleven weeks, there is now something to rub. It’s not obvious unless I’m naked (and of course, I frequently am) or in yoga pants.
Sam gave me a pair (my first! they had training wheels!) and I smiled, thinking she was way ahead of herself.
But now there’s a small, but definite circle emerging out of my torso.
Babycenter.com keeps me updated on the size of my baby, and every week it relates my baby to a food item. We started at a sesame seed, and moved on past grape (a bit odd to read while eating a grape), through a week of persimmon size, and we’re now at fig size. My uterus is now bigger than a grapefruit, and I’m left with the uncanny suspicion that I’m incubating a fruit salad. As if the pregnant woman needed to be reminded of food.
I feel very very pretty. There’s some intangible component to pregnancy hormones. It’s not that your boobs are huge, which they are, or that you’re doing something really amazing and important with your body, which you are. You just feel irresistible. And when you start with someone as vain as myself …. well, I can hardly stand myself.
You can’t either, I’m sure. I mean, RAWR.
What I do feel lacking in is creativity. The baby took it all. And considering that this is the week s/he learns to open and close his or her little fists, I can assume s/he’s in there in my uterus, with my creativity, and a Bedazzler.