I didn't really mean to announce that I'm full term and then run away for two weeks, so people could scratch their heads wondering if I had given birth or if I had been eaten by gila monsters in the dry heat of the desert (heh heh, suckers). Well, neither has happened, and I am wishing for one of them with all my heart. Guess which one?

Also, I feel like I should be constantly singing Weird Al Yankovic's parody of Michael Jackson's Bad. I guess I didn't realize that once my kid dropped, he would keep dropping. So now I have this weird pouch gut that resides mainly below my belly button. And I thought I had a front butt before. I can't help but laugh when I see it in the mirror and dance around. I think this kid is great. But it really is time for him to come out now. My mom told me this time would come. This is the time when I don't care how it happens, I just want him out. And also, I need some snuggling from this kid. I need to kiss his cheeks and be a mama.

Sorry I don't have more to offer at this point in time, but the child consumes all thought. And in turn, I consume everything else. Like homemade mac and cheese and fried chicken. Could life get any better? Well, I guess it could have been better if I hadn't been the one who cooked it, but it was totally worth it. Delicious evil cheese....

Updated to add: At Eve's request, I had my husband take the latest picture. Please ignore the tiny spots of delicious chicken oil that popped onto my shirt as I cooked (I swear that's how it got there (I do realize I look and sound like a slob...)). We also took one with my shirt pulled up, and while it gives me a hearty laugh to look at it, I do not want to share it with the internets. Sorry.


I'm pointing at my belly button to give you an idea of how far down he's gone. Obviously he has not dropped far enough because I'm not cradling him and giving you a thumbs up sign...