Last night, I was getting changed into my pajamas and realized I looked really freaking pregnant. Now, I’m only three months along, so it’s not like I am having trouble fitting through doorways yet. And, I’ve had a little bit of a bump for a while that has been all too easy to hide. And this new bump may have been inflated from eating a plate of chips and cheese while out for mexican with my dear husband. But it still felt like a huge deal. Huge enough that I couldn’t stop looking at it or talking about it to Adam, and then ran downstairs to show my sister, Lindsay. I apparently was acting a little too happy/crazed because she screamed and averted her eyes because she thought I was about to moon her. I totally did, once she said that, but still.
I finally showed her my bump, looked at it in the mirror some more, made Lindsay touch it, then made her take a picture of it to send to my mom and my sister, Catie. Then I made her erase that and take a new one because she managed to take a picture where I just looked fat instead of pregnant. Then I may have cried a little bit. Not because of Fat in Photographs Sara, but because it was another moment in what I feel like has been a pretty limited series of moments I like to call Holy Crap I’m Growing a Human.
Then I came back up to our room, looked at my belly some more in the mirror, made Adam touch it, and I may have sung a couple bars of “A Whole New World” to the ever-patient father of my tiny human. Then I fell asleep, only to be awoken an hour later by the sounds of Aeolis, the Greek ruler of winds, doing what only could have been interpreted as tearing the world outside my window to shreds. So I laid there, partially in terror, partially going through different scenarios in which I would realize I needed to get out of bed and save my husband, my sister, my cats and my dog AND my fetus from grizzly deaths at the hands of a monster tornado. Then I fell back asleep.