The Final Bumpshot

So, I’m having a baby next week.

I mean, no biggie, right?

*Whistles casually*

*Totally freaks out and bursts into tears*

Yeah.

When I first started blogging about my pregnancy, I’d had the idea that I’d do weekly “bumpshots”, so that, at the end of the pregnancy, I’d be able to look back on it, and see how my shape had changed from week to week.

What I didn’t expect was that I’d really, really hate looking at photos of my changing shape.

This is one of those things you’re not supposed to admit when you’re pregnant. You’re supposed to be so grateful to be having a baby that you really don’t care about the bloated face, the cellulite that appears from nowhere, or the fact that you stop looking like you at some point in the second trimester, and then, after that, every time you catch sight of yourself in the mirror unexpectedly, there’s this complete stranger standing there in your place.

Or, at least, that’s how it’s been for me, anyway, and I’m not ashamed to admit it, either: I honestly believe that it’s possible to be grateful for your pregnancy AND want to burst into tears when you hit the 3rd trimester, absolutely nothing fits any more, and even your face seems to be pregnant all of a sudden (YOUR FACE, PEOPLE.), and that’s pretty much where I am now, really.

I am, of course, grateful and amazed that my body has somehow managed to grow an actual baby, but at the same time, I’ve kind of been in “no publicity please” mode for a while now. I didn’t do the monthly bump shots I thought I would, and I’ve had no inclination whatsoever to do any of those, “Here I am in my underwear!” shots that are so popular amongst pregnant women. I DID post maternity outfits for as long as I could, but those stopped a few weeks ago, when I ran out of clothes that actually fit me, and just wanted to hide myself away for the rest of the pregnancy.

Last week, though, I woke up on the morning the pregnancy finally reached full term, to find that it had snowed overnight. It was already starting to melt by the time I got dressed, but I suddenly thought it might be nice to get one final set of photos, to document this last stage of pregnancy. I somehow had the idea that they’d be all kind of romantic and glamorous, like some of the maternity shoots I’ve seen other bloggers do, so I got dressed (And, full disclosure: I wore this outfit purely for the sake of getting some final maternity photos in it, and I had assistance getting in and out of the house, so I was in no danger of falling over in the snow!) and persuaded Terry to head out into the snow with me to get some photos.

Yeah, the photos didn’t come out looking all romantic and glamorous: in fact, when I looked back at them, my first thought was, “DELETE! DELETE! DELETE!”

I didn’t delete them, though.

Because, the fact is, this is what I looked like at 37 weeks pregnant. It’s not glamorous, and I am definitely not “glowing” – well, not other than with the cold sweat of sheer terror, anyway – but hey: I’m never going to be 37 weeks pregnant again, and I figured that was something worth documenting.

Just 11 days to go, folks…