It’s official guys, I’m huge. Last Tuesday, at my weekly doctor’s appointment my belly measured 44 weeks! And, ahem, I’m only 34. In the span of two weeks I gained eight pounds and my belly grew 8 cm. I’ve entered the stage of the freakishly abnormal belly and it feels like it.

I am starting to get some comments. Mostly I get “any day now,” to which I smile and nod. Sure. Whatever. I am getting tired and don’t need to explain the whole long story. (“Well, I’m actually having twins, and actually there is three weeks left, but actually even more than that because my actual due date is December 17. Actually.”)

Then there are others who might be too scared to say anything as I waddle past them. And there are a few chosen ones to whom I decide to disclose the entirety of my situation and there is inevitably a nod of understanding and almost a prideful smile for noticing that I am larger than the average belly. Then there are the people who say things like, “I was gonna say, there couldn’t be just one baby in there!” I am starting to get those more and more. It’s okay. I’m not too offended. I am carrying twins after all.

And then there are my friends. My good, true, and sweet friends, who keep saying I don’t look “that big for twins,” and tell me I am looking good. Thank goodness for good friends.

For the record, the above picture doesn’t do my belly justice. If you think I look big here, you should see me in real life! In some weird amazing way, I think I look smaller in pictures than I am in real life. My honest mother agrees with me.

In the picture, I am smiling. And yes, I am doing well. Really well all things considered. But the amount of sighing and groaning I do come afternoon and evening would put an overweight middle aged man to shame.

I lug these two precious girls around all day, and by the end of it I feel incredibly uncomfortable. There’s not room for all three of us in here anymore. I am getting squished. I have no idea where my major organs are these days and I am seriously in awe at times that my body can keep on functioning. 

I can feel my skin stretching so much that it hurts. And I can’t even really tell if I have stretch marks because I can’t see half my belly. When standing in front of the mirror there is only so much twisting and bending I can do…like, um, none.

Thankfully, it isn’t much longer. November 24 is D day. My scheduled c-section. I think, praise God, I am gonna make it. Or at least close to it. That leaves me about two more weeks. Holy Moly.

I can do this! I just might not be able to get up off the couch by myself for the next two weeks. 🙂