Thirty eight...

I take these baby bump photos very seriously.

Just ask my photographer.

A few confessions:

I often find myself pondering what I will wear each week, and upon determining that I hate everything in my closet (which is often), I use this photo shoot as an excuse to go shopping.

I make a sincere effort to straighten (brush) my hair and put on makeup, and it's often the one day a week I feel compelled to do so.

 I force Reece to take about 534095894380259 pictures until I find one that I like -- a tendency that has strained our marriage each Saturday for the past 10 months.

After all, these photos are for my children and my grandchildren and their children and on and on and on...

Right.

But I'm here to say that things have changed, as evidenced by this week's photo.

I couldn't care less what I look like because I know that despite my greatest efforts I will inevitably channel a small elephant.

Baby boy measured small at this week's appointment with Dr. Laine, so a stress test (which I passed) and ultrasound were ordered "just to be on the safe side."

I remember panicking when we found ourselves in the same situation with Lola, but this time around I wasn't too worried.

Because dude, look at me.

There's no way that baby is too small.

Sure enough (and thankfully), everything looked grand.

The ultrasound doctor estimates the baby already weighs over seven pounds (small my eye) and assured me that 01. my little man is in fact a male and 02. that he appears to be perfectly perfect.

My doctor brought up induction, which is an idea I love/hate at the same time.

On the one hand, it would be nice to know when the boy will come -- considering we live an hour's drive from the hospital and that my doctor plans to be out of town intermittently in the weeks leading up to and after my due date.

I could have this baby on Sunday if I so choose.

However, on the other hand, the pitocin I was given with Lola made me beg for a quick death.

And I can't shake the feeling that allowing my body and my baby to do their thing on their own time might be best, even though the cankles/swelling are getting to be more than just an annoyance.

Therefore, I have decided to hold off for now, hoping and praying that the baby decides he's had it with my uterus sooner rather than later.

Because, as I mention each week, I just want to smooch him.

And that want is turning into a pressing need pretty darn fast.

Until next week...