It’s official. I have become a beached whale.

I have to squat to reach things off the floor – such as the gazillion toys my toddler trails behind him throughout the house. I find myself leaning sideways to get into kitchen cupboards. And I’m sitting farther and farther away from my desk and keyboard lately. Getting up and down off the floor (once again with the toddler – we must play trains, and puzzles, and read books, and hide eggs — all of which seems to require Mommy here to lurch myself onto all fours and then groan my way slowly upright as I balance the precarious watermelon belly back into a vertical position. I sort of have to swing one leg for momentum to get myself out of bed (ten times a night or so) and then I literally roll up and out like Humpty Dumpty or one of those old Weeble Wobble toys.

All I can think lately is: are we there yet? I remember now that this was really the worst trimester for me with my first pregnancy. Huge, hormonal, exhausted, and constantly uncomfortable and cranky.

And I have officially given up on healthy eating and moderate weight gain. At this point, I’m already huge and totally unhappy, so if eating ice cream all the time help me feel a little better? Well, to hell with watching the scale. Let’s feed this hungry hippo!!