My stomach is now seriously resembling what I usually look like after Thanksgiving dinner. After Thanksgiving dinner we slide from the dining chairs in our stretchy pants and either sleep where we land, or manage to army crawl to a sofa or quiet corner where we can slip blissfully into our turkey coma.
My stomach is firm, distended, with a bulge that won't disappear, not even after a trip to the bathroom. So this is no Food Baby, but the Real Baby.
It was only a few months ago, when I was in the P90x committed stage, that my stomach was getting a nice chiseled look that can only come from 400+ ab crunches in a single workout.
That is all gone now.
I would have to say that I now resemble a true Wisconsinite, in that it appears I have spent my entire adult life eating cheese curds, brats, and pounding down the Schlitz.
It doesn't help that Matt loves to touch my stomach and whisper, "Rub the Buddha." As if it is a magic lamp that will grant him three wishes. I sometimes don't know whether to laugh or to pinch him. Hard. On that soft upper part of the back of the arm. You know the place that really hurts? Yes, there.
Luckily I can still wear most of my pants. Most of my pants and jeans are low-waisted, specifically because I have a short waist. And right now I have no waist. So the pants are still fitting as long as they button under my bloated gut, but I'm not sure how long that will last. Maybe another month if I'm lucky.
A few weekends ago I went shopping and found a lot of great shirts, for some reason the large drapy ones are in style right now so that has been working out. But not with the pants. I'm loathed to buy any specific maternity things, especially those jeans with the elastic waistband, but I'm probably going to have to find something. I know I can't spend the last three months waddling around in sweatpants; though I heard Zubaz are making a comeback.
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