Halfway home

We hit 20 weeks in doctor-speak and 18 weeks in real-people-speak tomorrow. That means we're nearly halfway toward hatching our second little progeny on the world. So far, so good. That nasty little test of a few weeks ago apparently came back negative. The fetus seems to be growing at a reasonable pace and has all the appropriate parts, at least judging by the ultrasound last week.

And how is the happy mother-to-be? Physically, I'm better. The gas -- should I have stuck a TMI alert in there before mentioning the farting again? -- has calmed down. I'm still exhausted, but not peeing quite so often. The brief bout of odd food cravings has passed.

But on the other hand, I'm feeling freakin' huge. I am, for the first time in my life, truly fat. Not a little overweight. Not a tad pudgy. FAT. I have a middle, and my middle has a middle, but no apparent beginning or end. My rear end ... well, it's getting harder and harder to separate my belly from my butt. Yes, it's that bad. That whole canard about women being beautiful when they're pregnant? Not this woman. I just look like I've let myself go. A lot.

I know this is part of the process, and I'm trying to embrace it. My mother was kind enough to buy me a bunch of maternity clothes, and when I tried them on this weekend, it was a revelation. Clothes aren't supposed to be uncomfortable. You're supposed to be able to breathe in your pants. Imagine that!

Still, this is taking some getting used to. Today, I finally broke out a maternity top and let my gut hang. A coworker came up to me today with a relieved look on his face. He'd just heard I was pregnant. And he was very pleased, because, you know, he'd been wondering ... "You haven't really looked like yourself recently."

Uh, no. I haven't. It's that extra 5, 10, 15 pounds. Thanks for noticing.