At the doctor's again. This must be highly suspicious to my work cohorts: In late because of a "meeting;" leaving early due to an "appointment." It didn't take many of these before one coworker marched into my office and asked: "Are you interviewing or are you pregnant?"
I actually don't mind if people think I'm interviewing. Sometimes I even wear interview-like outfits on doc appointment days. Keep 'em on their toes, right? It'll seem as if I'm in high demand--or something. They don't need to know that I'm simply peeing in little cups and getting weighed.
On the getting weighed front, here's a little tidbit for you: Apparently, the little person weighs about one ounce now, as does the placenta. That means the other 62 ounces I've gained is all me. Even though I can't really see those 64 ounces (4 pounds to the non-math types), someone at my sister's wedding
last weekend said to me "I totally thought you were showing at the rehearsal dinner, but I don't see anything today!" Um, thanks. Nate says that it's just that I have now completely stopped trying to suck my gut in.