Well, I can’t believe I am 7 months pregnant. Time is moving at warp speed these days- in less than three months, I am going to have a baby boy! A very active baby boy at that, given the amount of time he spends kicking the shit out of me. I received a sheet from my OB regarding fetal kick count, and it mentioned making sure the baby is kicking 10 times in a 2-hour period. It also mentioned noticing these counts in the morning and before bed, which is the baby’s most active time. Well, according to Whoorlito, all hours of the day are his “most active times”. In fact, in the time it has taken me to type this paragraph, he has groped/jabbed my placenta like a punching bag/kicked a dent in my lungs repeatedly. Good times.

Not that I’m complaining. Even though it can be a tad uncomfortable, especially around the rib cage area (could you maybe relocate your legs? thanks. love, mom), I love every movement he makes. Partly because I have become a weepy pile of pregnant mush, but mainly because it makes me think of the infamous scene in Alien when the alien bursts out of the stomach. And dude, that’s fucking wicked.

Whoorlito is now approximately 15 inches long, weighs over 2 pounds, should have a full head of hair and is secretly plotting my demise into parenthood. So clever.

As for me, I feel great (except the backache), am sleeping well (except for when my back pain interferes), am generally really enjoying pregnancy (except for my back- did I mention my back?) and am repeatedly told that YOU DON’T LOOK 7 MONTHS PREGNANT, HOW CAN YOU BE 7 MONTHS PREGNANT, ARE YOU SURE YOU KNOW YOUR DUE DATE, I THINK YOU ARE CONFUSED ON THE DATES. Those comments should make me feel great, right? Yes and no.

It reminds me of a little tale from months back. I was out to dinner with my sister and one of her co-workers who was 7 months pregnant. She did not “look” 7 months pregnant…she had a tiny basketball belly and looked great. So, I told her. After dinner, my sister told me she was slightly offended (maybe “offended” is too strong of a word- “annoyed” would be better) that I, and others, had told her that. My first thought was “Poor, sweet pregnant girl”.

Ok, ok. That wasn’t my first thought. It probably was more along the lines of “What a BEAAATCH! Sweet Jebus, take a fucking compliment, WHORE.”

But now I can honestly say I sympathize with her line of thinking. Sometimes, it sounds less like a compliment and more like “you must be doing something wrong”. Or maybe it’s just my preggers brain. Whatever.

And please don’t get me wrong. I much prefer hearing these kind of statements opposed to something like “Holy Hell, shouldn’t that kid be making his entrance soon?”

But in the interests of my doubters, I present my 7-month belly with a lovely side-by-side comparison of 4 months back. I even put on the same pants, which very possibly cut off all blood supply to the baby in the most recent photo.

SEE, DOUBTERS! There is a baby in there, and it’s COLOSSAL.

At least to me.