My goal of taking weekly belly pictures is not going very well. The truth is, I’m lazy. I’m not decorating the nursery, or ironing baby clothes, or cataloging organic baby food recipes, or doing any other busy pregnant-lady things. I’m going for walks, and I’m reading. That’s pretty much it.

Since we found out I was pregnant, I have probably read 20+ pregnancy, childbirth, breastfeeding, and parenting books. I’ve been devouring them; they are my addiction. Maybe I’ll write about some of my favorites later. No promises.

So to make up for my absences, I’m going to post three belly pictures at once, and then follow it up with an entry straight from the contents of my personal diary (where I write all the juicy details and non-PG rated aspects of my life). The entry was written back in October. I’m including it here partially because it makes me happy and partially because it’s already written. Because remember? I’m lazy.

So as promised, from my diary. This entry was written October 16, 2011:

Pho in the East Village. New York City. The soup is steaming, a welcome comfort to my sore throat, and if I want to get to the noodles at the bottom of the bowl my only option is chopsticks.

I’m at the narrow counter, and the two-table Vietnamese cafe has its doors thrown open to the street, where dingy winged pigeons feather by and an endless line of goldenrod taxis slides past me. There are people everywhere, but it is quieter than you might expect. Hip hop music pulses next door, perforating the conversation of the couple behind me, but with all the movement, the steak sizzling in the kitchen, the cash drawer slamming, the curious mix of Spanish and Vietnamese flowing behind the counter, no one sound is grating, nothing stands out from the mix, but instead I am taken in by the ambiance and am comforted by it.

This is my time alone on our vacation, my escape from our escape, our week-long vacation to D.C. first, and now New York City. I needed to get out of that sports bar. I know Corey is enjoying himself, and that the Packers are winning, but there are streets to explore, and that dark basement, those former frat boys fist-bumping each other, none of it compared to strolling the city alone, in the warm air, the sunny fall afternoon. This is how I like to vacation, it is what I do in cities. I walk, I eat, I write in a journal. And Corey, love, told me to go ahead, find a bookstore, buy a real bound book this time. He knows my small pleasures and why they matter to me.

Our relationship looks something beautiful to me on this trip. Corey leaning forward in the airplane to watch the city disappear and the next destination materialize when we land. Corey talking to Brittany in the morning, over coffee. I’m in the bathroom doing my hair, and I smile as I hear him in the next room, getting to know my friend. This trip could change many things for us. Because suddenly, without fanfare or much of a revelation at all, we decided to start trying to have a baby when we get home. The decision came so quietly that I am certain it is right. The absence of drawn-out conversations about “are we ready or aren’t we?”, the lack of panic and nerves, makes me feel that yes, we are ready, and yes, now is the time.

This trip feels like a celebration and culmination of our early 20s. These years when we did just what we wanted for ourselves, when we were the centers of our own universes and the worlds we created with our friends. Tonight, we can go where we want, we can stay out until 3 AM, crowded shoulder-crushing bar hopping, we can spend twenty dollars on meatballs and eat them on the front steps of an apartment building on the lower East side. Soon someday we’ll be up at 3 AM with a screaming baby. And I am ready for that.

So here we are, one day left to this vacation, and a whole new world waiting for us when we get home.

Exactly two weeks later, I found out I was pregnant.

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So I got lazy.

Five months pregnant hit me hard. Illustrated, as you can see, by the fact that I’m wearing yoga pants in all the pictures from the last three weeks. The same pair of yoga pants. Though I’m sure I did the laundry at least one time in there.

Somehow, the moment my pregnancy calendar flipped to five months, I stopped feeling like I always have throughout this pregnancy (like myself, only hungrier)… and I started feeling pregnant.

Now, when I bend down (who am I kidding? squat down) to pick something up, standing up again is like doing a deadlift.

And ice cream, which I couldn’t care less about before Bambino came along, and which was pretty dang good the first four months of pregnancy, has become the most amazing food on the planet. To the point where I’m afraid to keep more than a half-pint container of Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer at a time. Since we only go grocery shopping every one-to-two weeks, I think I’m managing my addiction pretty well, but take me into ColdStone, and I won’t be responsible for what happens…

My belly feels gigantic now. I’m amazed by it, but my unconscious forgets that it’s there, preferring instead to remember my body the way it used to be, pre-pregnancy and nearly 10 pounds lighter. I’m constantly walking too close to things, bumping my belly into the side of a table, or opening doors towards me too far and hitting myself with them.

When I do remember my belly, I just love it. I think it’s beautiful. But I have to admit that I’m in shock at what’s happening to my navel.

There have been other things that surprised me. That the first baby-kick of the morning would cause me to say, “Hello, baby!” so naturally… as if it’s normal to be talking to your unborn child. But I think it is. Because it seems right, and I keep on doing it.

Or that an ultrasound picture, which always seemed so grainy and blob-like to me before we got one of our own kid, would now be the background on my phone… and that seeing it would put me into a beyond-happy giddy state every time.

Five months down, four to go. I really can’t wait to meet this little guy.

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