Oh. My. God. If if get any bigger, I think my belly will split wide open like an overripe watermelon. I keep thinking that this is it — my skin can’t possibly stretch any more, my belly can’t extend any further, and my posture can’t get any worse (I’m the leaning tower of Pisa lately) — but then every day I get bigger. And bigger. Someone actually asked me if I had “a litter in there” the other day. No, I am not whelping a litter. Nor am I having twins, or triplets, and I am not, apparently, having this baby tonight. So quit with the stupid questions, okay people?

What I am having is a very big baby. Junior weighed in at about 8 pounds during my 35-week checkup. And his head is massive; kiddo’s noggin measured at “overdue” in terms of diameter. No wonder I can’t sleep, eat, walk, or breathe anymore. I’m going to give birth to a ten pound baby… eventually.

Now we’re just playing the waiting game. Let’s hope that babykins decides to be punctual, otherwise I’ll be literally bursting at the seams.