Pregnancy has a lot of givens.
The most obvious, of course, being that you will get fat.
But that is okay because: a) pregnancy fat is cute and usually accompanied by lots of smiles from strangers and b) um, hello, you get a cute baby in the end and more smiles from strangers!
(Sadly, the fat immediately ceases to be cute as soon as the baby comes out and unfortunately tends to stick around!)
Another given, at least for me, is the amount of fat I will gain. Over the course of three pregnancies, the only thing that was the same about all of them was the number of pounds I gained.
(Disclaimer: I had pre-eclampsia with Libby and I am not counting the 20 lbs of water that I retained during my last month of pregnancy with her.)
So, three pregnancies.
Different eating and exercising habits each time.
Which, btw, was well over the recommended 30-35 lbs each time.
But despite that similarity, that weight never looked the same.
With Libby, I just looked terrible and really don't have many pictures documenting that.
With Emma Jane, I looked like I was pregnant for the first time not the second.
Here I am with her at 17 weeks:
I am still in regular clothes and didn't really look pregnant with EJ until into my sixth month.
With John, being a third baby and all, the belly popped out sooner.
Here I am at 16 weeks with him and sporting a definite baby bump:
And then came baby #4. A baby that I have already determined is definitely flying solo in there.
Here I am, still a few days shy of a second trimester:
What the hey!?
My belly should not be bigger than my boobs already!
Brad, my sweet husband, said to me last night, "Wow! You are really starting to show!"
I stuck my tongue out at him.