17 weeks.

This is why we will have no family photos. First, don't judge me. I know my belly looks huge for 17 weeks. I have no idea why, but I really don't care what you think. Second, I know my hair looks crazy. That's just a reflection of how I feel about this process.

It seems Mitch has turned taking belly pics into a game. He hates doing it anyway (as do I), but we agree that we should probably document something about our first (seemingly viable) pregnancy. So he tries to take them as quickly as possible, most of the time with the camera strap hanging in front of the lens, while yelling at me to stop laughing and get it together. Anyway, the following is a series of attempts to get a decent 17-week belly pic.

I don't know why I didn't like this one; it's whatever. But I remembered my friend Shannon's belly pics where she puts her hand on her hip, and it makes her look less slouchy, so we decided to try that.

I blame this one on the photographer. Mitch was just being trigger happy.

Blinking. Thanks.

Double chin and crazy face.

Spaz.

Not sure. Maybe Mitch farted. We did just eat sausage.

Abusing the cameraman.

Pretentious. Slightly confrontational.

Acceptable.

Snorkels is kicking quite a bit. Or elbowing. Or headbutting. I'm not really sure which part of its body it's moving, but it's a mover and a shaker (I mean comparatively. Compared to never having had a human being growing inside of me. Compared to what it normally feels like in there). I get up about three times a night to pee. And I've officially stopped wearing regular people pants. It's not that I can't (although it's mostly that); it's that I don't want to. It's finally socially acceptable for me to wear elastic-waist pants everywhere, so why would I pass up that phenomenal opportunity? I am a little nervous that I will regularly leave my fly down after I get back to regular pants, seeing as how I won't have used a zipper in five months.