It's been quite a week around here.
First, there is the Case of the Not-Fitting Skirt. I have this denim skirt that I like to wear. It's loose and comfy and knee length. I wore it the week before last, and it fit fine. And then last Thursday I started to put it on, and I realized that there was about an inch gap between the button and the buttonhole at my waistline. The gap could be forcibly closed, but certainly not comfortably. I took off the skirt, and thought something along the lines of "holy crap," since I was not quite even 9 weeks pregnant yet. Last time around, my waistline had not changed at all at that point. Or even at this point, now, as I approach 10 weeks, at the end of this week.
Then, there is the Case of the Headfirst Down the Stairs Dive, wherein on Sunday (Mother's Day, for added fun) after church I tripped and fell down 5 or 6 stairs, headfirst (but not landing on my head), landing with my skirt flipped up to expose my underwear and meaty thighs to the people who'd been behind me on the stairs. I am ok, but still, today, covered with sore muscles, especially those in my arms and shoulders. And my legs are bruised. Yesterday, because he was sick of me getting all this attention, Geoff fell down our stairs at home, twisting his ankle. He seems to be better today, but still. We are pitiful.
There is also the Story of Not Sick. I continue to not throw up, and I continue to be impressed and grateful for this. I have thrown up three times so far, but two of those followed coughing and phlegm and choking and gagging, and the other one followed me smelling the stench of leftover food in the fridge, and then - when I retreated to the kitchen sink in case I had to throw up - smelling the stench emanating from the kitchen sink. I can, again, vouch for the fact that my sense of smell - especially for bad smells - is sharper than usual.
Further expanding on the Skirt Story, I've gotten kind of obsessed with the fact that my belly is already growing. I spent a fair amount of time this weekend lifting up my shirt and looking at my profile in mirrors, or lifting up my shirt and asking Geoff to look at my profile and confirm that it really is bigger than it was. On Friday I was doing this and Katie wanted to know what I was doing. "My belly is starting to get bigger from the little baby," I said. (This is what she calls it, every time now: the little baby.) "It IS?" She yelled. "Yay!"