Let me be the first to say that looking at old photos of yourself while nine months pregnant is truly the worst thing you can do. I WAS SO SKINNY AND I HAD NO IDEA. NO IDEA! My legs were so lean! My hair so red and freckles so bright from the southern sun! Stretch marks were a foreign concept! My hair was long and voluptuous and I'm almost considering growing it out again (5 minutes from now I'll have changed my mind)(I've already changed my mind)(and I just changed it back)(help).
I found a bunch of pictures of James and me. Such babies we were! We looked 16 when we were dating, and here we are, five...wait no....SIX years later, living in the cold Midwest and about to have a tiny little baby. The hormones, how they rage. I'm going to walk you down memory lane with me. DEAL WITH IT. Please just do me a favor and look at these with me and then hold me while I cry. I don't know why I'm crying.
Have I told you that James had a lip ring when I met him? He was this quiet, brooding musician with a skateboard, shaggy hair, and a lip ring. Gosh, I loved it so much. He ditched the lip ring after college but the shaggy hair has made a return lately. He doesn't skateboard anymore, but he still plays his guitar and drums all the time. He's still quiet and brooding. Our first apartment was straight up ghetto, and I was afraid we would be stuck there forever and I would never get out of North Carolina. We used to spend weekends at the beach and now we spend them taking naps, and he installs the carseat while I wash the newborn onesies, and the cat bats at the guitar strings. He now has a beard and I have a giant belly. I wouldn't trade it for anything. He's from the South, I'm from the West, and we're about to have ourselves a Midwestern baby. I love watching how things unfold. I love it. I just love it.