"Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you have to eat like a horse."

These words of wisdom coming from a sixteen year old punk who spends all of 45 minutes with me whining about my forcing him to learn. Whew! He's lucky that end-of-the-pregnancy nasty attitude I've heard of hasn't come (except when I'm sleepy), because I might have said something back. Luckily, two days later, he came in to my class with his skin as orange as a baby who eats only carrots. Apparently, his "buddy convinced" him to go tanning. Suuuuuuure.

I've finally gotten stretch marks on my belly. It was a sad morning when I woke up and saw that ten or so magically appeared. It made me sad, because I was proud of my smooth, hard, pregnant belly, even if only Andy and I saw it, and now it is marred with purple streaks. At least I've read that they'll fade eventually. I am getting sick of carrying around this extra weight though. And I feel bad about complaining about it when I wanted it so much, but lately I have been feeling pretty puny.
My feet and hands get swollen (but my blood pressure is usually low, so apparently it isn't a problem except that it hurts), my stomach hurts a lot, and I feel queasy. I've also been blessed with some Braxton Hicks (thank you Dr. Tom, for not calling them fake, but instead saying, "so you've begun getting contractions.") which gives you shots of pain at the top of your belly that quickly moved down. And menstrual-like cramps. I almost forgot what those felt like and so I had to give a few thanks for the lack of a period for the past eight months.
I know that these pre-labor contractions don't do much to dilate me, and therefore move me toward the finish line, but I'm hoping they will soon and that Nathan won't decide that he wants to linger in mommy's warm water-bath.