Big Belly, Warm Hands

Every morning, Mr. D finds a way to touch my hand while we are in the car. This might sound like a minor thing, but because I am the antithesis of a morning person, touching is often verboten. I have learned to tolerate the fact that he *is* a morning person, and a sensitive, affectionate guy. He has learned to tolerate the fact that his morning affections will, at most, be met with tolerance and not a quick jump in the sack.

But I digress.

Now that I have reached the 27+ week mark, my body temperature has been rising steadily. And as Mr. D finds my hand in the car, he tells me, "you're hot." I know full well that it is not a reference to being mighty sexy or even an attempt to be more like Paris (so, HOTT...NOTT). I am a furnace. So much so that I almost can't stand to be around myself.

The other new development at this stage is SPD (symphysis pubis dysfunction for those who haven't been there, done that). Essentially, the pelvis is supposed to stretch while you are pregnant to allow the baby to be delivered. In those whose pelvises (pelvi?) are overachievers, the separation goes above and beyond the call of duty, resulting in SPD. Also known as sonofabitchthathurts. I had SPD with Gabe, but I had been so symptom-free to date that I naively thought I might get to skip it this time. Nope. It's back. With a vengeance. And the most frustrating part is not that pregnancy has its aches and pains. I'm 100% ok with that. It's the fact that I am having a c-section this time, which means that my pelvis does not need to stretch. At all. And I keep hobbiling around glaring at the bitch trying to tell her that her efforts are wasted. All she is doing is torturing me. But does she listen? Noooooooooo.

And the wedding rings are history. Finger puffing commenced over the weekend.

I am just a lovely to behold. So behold: