supersize me.

In our house, there are three babies: big baby, little baby and tiny baby. Big baby is Claire's largest doll. Little baby is her mid-size. And tiny baby. Well, tiny baby is a 3 month old fetus figurine that she got from a Right to Life booth a few months back. Every once in a while, I'll find tiny baby in a jacket pocket or floating around in my car. Claire will ask for him, pop his little head in her mouth, binkie-style, and chew his little head. Dude has a lot of teeth marks on his tiny baby body. I'd post a picture of him, but I have no idea where he's hiding. I'm sure he'll turn up at some point, he always does.

Sometime in August, a new baby will be here. I'm thinking we should call him Really, Really Ridiculously Big Baby. This morning at my appointment, Really, Really Ridiculously Big Baby measured 3 weeks ahead of schedule. I knew that he was getting big, but I wasn't prepared for that big. My girl was 8 days late and over 9 pounds. There's no telling what Really, Really Ridiculously Big Baby could do. I know the ways that babies come out of their mommies and none of them sound that fun. Not that I'm nervous.

And now, a cautionary whale*:
This was taken a few weeks ago, but you get the idea. And self: please stop smiling like that, it looks weird and at this point, you could really stand to blend in a little.

* A batch of post-partum brownies for the first person to correctly identify this quote. I'm big and generous.