I think this means I've been wearing my sweatpants a little too much these days. Even my 2 year old is noticing. In my defense, when you wake up feeling like your tummy has grown three sizes every night, it makes it a little hard to find comfortable pants. Still... New goal? Not to wear anything that even my son feels is "not very cute."

In other news, Her Highness is doing fantastic. She's active as anything and has a preoccupation with stuffing herself as far into my lungs as she can, but I suppose a little attacking of the organs is to be expected when you are so tightly confined. I'm definitely growing bigger and bigger, as is she. Apparently with the bigger tummy comes bigger pregnancy hormones, which would be problematic if it didn't make me laugh so hard half of the time. Poor Bryce. The other day I cried because we were out of spaghetti sauce. I kid you not. Full blown tears over pasta sauce. Sad. I'm not quite as sick as I used to be though, so I'm going to call it an overall win. (Though I'm not sure Bryce would agree with me.)