On the left, 36 weeks with Will. On the right, 36 weeks with Nooner 2.
(I wish I could blow up the photo on the left, but I suppose there was a reason I was taking it from such a distance. I mean, WHAT WAS I EATING in 2008? Whatever it was, why did no one stop me??)
The side-by-side comparison makes me wonder if all those obnoxious "Looks like twins!" commenters were not, in fact, teasing me, but were instead truly concerned that I was carrying multiples and didn't know it. And how delusional was I when I deemed those 3/4-length skintight leggings appropriate attire for that body?
Anyway, enough incredulous ranting about The Great Belly of Yesteryear. The report (from the doctor) on Baby 2 is: head down & moderately low, heartbeat good & strong, my blood pressure's fine & dandy. The report from me is more along the lines of: Ooh, ouch! And also: Must you pummel my sternum with your (inevitably monstrous, weaponlike) feet? Concluding with: If you are already over 8 lbs., please plan to exit within a week, or, you know, never. Hey, thanks.
Also, at 36 weeks with Will, I wrote in my pregnancy journal something like "Your dad finally hung up the curtains in your nursery, so it's officially done...at last! Whew!"
Hm. Well, Baby 2 has a crib. Sure, the plastic's still on the mattress. As are three paintings, two duvets, a batch of newborn diapers and some miscellaneous overflow from Will's closet. There's a...bookshelf in there (the room, not the crib). And a little table with nothing on it. Oh, and a set of drill bits, because nothing says "Welcome home, Baby!" like DeWalt accessories.