39 diggity dang weeks

It's official: I am very pregnant.

My fingers, my toes, my bones, my muscles and ligaments and nerves, all they can talk about is how very, very pregnant I am.  I think they've been holding meetings without my knowing, cause they're all starting to do stuff together, in concert, like a really weird, kinda creepy bodily symphony.  My feet and hands have gradually started swelling - there was a traumatic night on Wednesday where Tony very nearly couldn't get my wedding ring off my finger, but finally did (ouch), which triggered my very first experience with actual contractions that hurt and everything.  (But then I went to sleep and they went away.) 

And my hips!  Oh, my hips.  My hips and back.  They'll need a vacation when this is done.

Other things that have changed:

- facial hair.  It's sad, but true.  What do I do?!

- my innie has officially become an outie, making my belly look like a giant boob if I'm wearing the right shirt.

- and yep, boobs.  2 cup sizes later and no one in this house is complaining.

Speaking of not complaining, I'm very grateful to have been pregnant through the winter and not the summer, but that doesn't make it easier to see all the cute spring lines of maternity clothes I won't be wearing.  Also, I am a fool for not having discovered the maternity section of H&M sooner.  Also also, nursing tank tops are my new best friend, but I will be very happy to just wear normal clothes again.  These stretchy-waist jeans have done me fine, but my inner fashion lover has cabin fever big time.  It's a rule that all brand new moms get to go shopping without having to justify any purchases to their husbands, right?

In other news, who needs a donut?  Me.  I do.  I was trying to get you to say me.