Have bun, will waddle

As of this week, I'm seven months pregnant, a fact that kind of astounds me. There are days when this pregnancy feels endless, and days when I feel like even though I do want it to end, I'll miss it when it does. I don't usually feel like I've gotten that big (my in-laws seemed almost disappointed at my lack of hugeness when I saw them at Christmas), although I certainly feel rather large and ungainly.

Booby has been very supportive of my changing shape, cheering me on with positive comments every time I announce a weight gain (I've gained about seventeen pounds, give or take, so far). But I did catch him on the phone with one of his buddies, announcing, "Yeah, she's pretty much graduated to the waddling stage at this point."

It's a good thing he makes up for cracks like that by taking me to see chickens in the wild.