Holy. Moly. 

I can feel the growing. Like as its happening. I feel like I ate all of thanksgiving all of a sudden. Like an explosion is imminent because my stomach cannot possibly contain this growing human. Like my skin is undoubtedly going to pop off and there is no way around it. I feel real big and it happened real fast. 

The stations of the cross on Good Friday, while important in the scheme of Catholic goings-on, cannot claim to be exceedingly exciting. However, the growth spurting that the eggplant baby decided to undertake while I was kneel-stand-kneel-repeat-ing was undeniable and made for quite the overwhelming and highly irreverent service. I’ve never felt like I was going to fall over from just existing, so much in my life. I also yawned approximately 4 times per station x 14 stations and 56 yawns later I felt like there wasn’t enough air in the world to meet the needs of my growing eggplant. Combine that with my decreased lung capacity and the fact that church interrupted my regularly scheduled programming of naptime and it was really just a recipe for exhaustion and an urgent need to sit.  

However, I did come to a very interesting realization that was not in any way related to my faith or Holy Week. Sorry God. 

I have always been a bit of a prego judger. Not that it ever really bothered me per se, but it always struck me as a little odd that pregos constantly have their hands on their bellies, are rubbing their bellies and loving on their bellies and cradling it and… you get it. BUT NOW IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE.

The belly is in the way! There is literally nowhere else for your arms to go! You have this new backpack sized protrusion on the front of yourself and you cannot possibly NOT put your hands there. Also it’s heavy. You have to literally hold it up in times of prolonged standing…or sitting… Or every minute because even laying down its heavy and the wrath of gravity manages to pull you down. It has nothing to do with being touchy-feely, earthy-crunchy, “connected” to the baby or loving pregnancy. It’s just necessary. The end. 

I apologize for all my past judgmental judginess and in my prego pregnantness I solemnly swear to embrace all belly-loving and in fact love on my own because well there’s no avoiding it and the kicking is cool. Amen.