Today we hit the 21 weeks and 3 days mark.  Or, if you’re a nerdy math geek like someone I’m married to, 21.428 weeks. 

I’m just halfway over the pregnancy, and in the last week or so, true to the sage wisdom of various pregger prep books like The Pregnancy Book and What to Expect When You’re Expecting, I have finally started to feel better and more energetic.  Not that I’m in any position to turn cartwheels (which at 33 I can still do, thank you very much), but the fatigue and sluggishness that plagued me for weeks 1 through 19 and 5 days (or 19.714 weeks) has diminished significantly. 

One thing that has changed dramatically in the last two weeks, however, is the size of my belly.  Or my tum, as Dave likes to call it.  I am in full fledged maternity clothes now, and while some days and in some outfits I tend to look more pregnant than other days (and outfits), the fact that we are expecting a baby is readily apparent now.  So now I get to do and expect cool things like park in the Expectant Mothers Only spaces at Babies R Us, allow total strangers to do kind and chivalrous things like open doors and offer to carry my bags, and eat three slices of pizza at work and not get funny looks from my colleagues. 

I must say, however, that who knew that elastic pants made of a cotton/spandex blend, could be so comfortable, and still be (gasp!) relatively stylish?  Good job Motherhood Maternity!

On the topic of tums, I have had a few people reach out and touch my belly without permission or warning, but I haven’t taken any offense to it.  I always thought that that part of pregnancy would bother me, the free-for-all manhandling of my stomach, but it’s done with so much excitement and joy towards our little one that I just can’t see it as rude or intrusive.  A bit strange, perhaps, but strange in a good way.

We are waiting for little Max to start kicking.  All of the aforementioned pregnancy books said that it could start as early as week 18, but that the possibility of not feeling anything, even the little butterflly flutters that our friends have warned us about, might go until week 24.  So far, sad to report, nothing yet.  We’ve both taken to talking to the little guy throughout the day (me) and in the evening (Dave) to try to encourage him to move, and during our last ultrasound a few weeks ago, the US tech was jostling my stomach to get him to move a bit more, but he just wasn’t cooperating. 

Part of me was hoping that Max would give a kick of approval and excitement when Sanjaya was FINALLY kicked off American Idol last night, but alas, that was not meant to be.  The notion of justice achieved in American pop culture just didn’t do it for the little man.  I’ll give him a few more weeks, but if I don’t start to feel some kung fu fighting in my tum pretty soon, I’m going to have my first real after-school special style “You Can Do It” talk with Max.

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