Jigs Up and Identity Tasted

Well, this is a somewhat hilarious "reveal" - because I'm pretty sure the three readers of this blog are all related to me by either blood or law and have known this bit of news for quite. some. time. (not to mention, any stragglers from facebook probably saw my accidental slip of the news back in August), but....

**** overdramatic drumroll please... ***

I'm pregnant!  Due date is January 2nd, which lands me at 24 weeks today.  Cah-razy town.  So far, so good.  The recent purchase of a body pillow greatly changed my life, and I am prepared to declare that no pregnant woman should resist buying one of these IMMEDIATELY - don't wait until your back, hips and shoulders are completely and utterly shot by trying to sleep "the old way" because it just. doesn't. work.

Yes, I'm into randomly over-punctuating my sentences.  I wonder if it's because I am treating myself to Philz coffee today and relishing the surge of artificial energy.  Yes, I've decided to be a mildly realistic variation of pregnant lady and do drink a cup of coffee when I am able to treat myself to something worthwhile (which Philz undeniably just IS) - though I proudly went the whole first trimester and a few weeks into the second before bringing this caffeinated delight back into my life.  I also have a glass of wine here and there.  And it's marvelous.

So, sleep advice and randomly charged opinions about coffee and wine with undertones of rebellion against the whole "pregnant-women-must-live-according-to-often-overblown-paranoia-for-fear-of-the-paralyzing-guilt-if-anything-goes-wrong thing"...  I think I'm officially a blogger now (and I'm writing from a trendy coffee shop in San Francisco! On a MacBook Pro!  ...and the cliches keep rolling in！♬♪)

Oh fine, you twisted my arm, I'll include a few pictures of my progression and really seal the deal on my new bored-lady-with-dreams-of-writing-turns-blogger identity (but only if you promise not to look too long at the last one, in which I look a little like a sad, tired, squashed fish.  Alas.

14 weeks and still willing to show my arms.  A questionable decision.

16 weeks and wizened up about the upper arm complex that can arise from a well-intentioned photo.

23 weeks: big, wise (?), and TIRED.