Progress on all Fronts: A story in pictures (mostly)

Well, here's my belly at 26 weeks:

I confess I feel a little gypped that I'm not getting the monster boobs. If I'm going to have the big caboose this pregnancy, I think I at least deserve some serious porn star hooters.

And, here are my feet:

My wonderful mother-in-law got me a pedicure for my birthday. I don't think she knew about the mouse-piss incident, but let's just say it was a well-timed gift.

Here, as promised, you can see the old living/dining room wall color, "jaundiced adobe":


And here we have the new living/dining room wall color. At first I called it "light sage," but now I'm thinking it might be "celedon." The paint can says "Veil of Mist," but that's just stupid.


I promise I'll show you a better picture when we get the furniture put back, internet. The table under that dropcloth and the Yahtzee box is actually very pretty. I know, I never post pictures of completed projects, but that's because I don't have any completed projects. But as soon as I get one, you'll be the first to know.

In further news, after submitting every sectional sofa north of the Rio Grande to a rigorous battery of loafing tests, my ass has found a winner:


It's the big one. In the foreground. Do you see all those other couches in the background, internet? Those couches are posers.

I like how the manufacturer of this sofa has given up the tired pretense that people sit on a couch. In fact, they seem to have given up the pretense that a couch is anything except a bed for the living room. It's just a big, velvety, schlumpy comfort machine. Loafers of the world, rejoice!

I mean, look at my big ol' honkin' ottoman. That, my friends, is the king of ottomans. It is the Ottoman Emperor. My pedicured feet never have to touch the floor again, for as long as I live, amen.

Delivery tomorrow.

So, I don't have a photo of the ER, or the pumpkin custard, but otherwise that's a pretty full report of my week.

Oh, except for all the farting--thankfully, I can't capture that with the camera. But Mr. Newt says maybe pregnant women fart all the time to make their partners less squeamish about bodily functions. By the time we get to diapers, neither of us will have any delicate sensibilities left to offend. He's so sentimental, my Mr. Newt.

Pregnancy is a magical time.