Fear The Belly

This is a truly strange journey.

Tuesday morning, I discovered that I couldn't get out of bed. Not that I was purely knackered from the weekend (I was. Staying up late with a bunch of hairy rockers and elven folk musicians can take it out of you.) but I literally couldn't get out of bed. There was a large belly in the way.

Now, it's not like I wasn't expecting The Belly. I mean, that's what happens, isn't it? You get knocked up, you get The Belly. But I think I have experienced the phenomenon known as "popping out". Monday, I woke up feeling pretty much as I have up until now- slightly swollen, but largely unchanged. Tuesday morning, however, there was suddenly an obstacle in my path to morning ablutions. And there was stretching. I can't overemphasize the stretching.

It occurred to me for the very first time that I might be having a baby.

I commented to Meg that IF takes away some of the reality from a pregnancy. It's harder to admit, even when all the signs point in your direction, that this time, possibly, it might all have gone right. Up until now, it's been a fairly abstract concept despite the disappearing waistline and increasingly vigorous kicks and jabs coming from within. But The Belly is hard to ignore. It makes buttons pop off of things and people have stopped crashing supermarket trolleys into me at Tesco. (Well, some of them have, at any rate.)

I'm coming up on 24 weeks tomorrow. All hail The Belly.