Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!

I lied. Actually, I didn't lie, I just didn't add to my recent post about being "bored" with celebrity gossip fare that I finished the post, checked my mailbox and squealed in delight when I saw that my People magazine had indeed arrived. That was a week ago and today when my newest edition came through the door I turned cartwheels. Or at least the 3rd trimester version of a cartwheel, which is more like a collapse on the couch, but I thought of cartwheels and would've were my body not saddled with a belly that is starting to evoke the sympathy stare. You know, the one where the person gives an "AWWW!" and then makes that awful teeth sucking sound.

Yesterday I was told by the Chinese woman selling me takeout that I am definitely having a boy. Evidently the fact that I have a low lying torpedo of a belly and not a wide belly indicates that my baby will be of the male variety. I told her that we were actually expecting a girl and that a boy might not enjoy being swaddled in all the pink we have or being rocked to sleep under his glittery chandelier, but that we will welcome any babe. Earlier in the day I was told by a playgroup mom, "Wow, November! You still have a ways to go!" It should be noted that this type of phrase is actually code for "You look huge!! Can you get any bigger?" Having done this once before and maybe even being bigger at this point last time, I am waaaaayyy more relaxed about this whole metamorphosis thing. It is pretty wild though. I occasionally catch a glimpse of myself and am surprised by how something so normal as being pregnant can really be so weird looking.

I hasten to add that I am not a huge fan of the Heidi Klums of the world (though I am obsessed with Project Runway). It isn't really fair that some people can just pop them out. Does she get skin tags and leg cramps--is it wrong of me to hope that she does?

But I digress. I would love to kick this celebrity habit in favor of more palatable fare, but the reality is that I am fascinated by Vaughniston and Brangelina. Sue me. Call me ignorant. Just don't try to take my magazines before I've devoured them. Seriously.