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So a few weeks ago, I posted the following Facebook status:

“I think my baby is having an identity crisis. I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s a rock…”

A few days later, at my work baby shower, my friend, Sam, gave me the following card. It was too awesome to keep to myself.

Sometime over the last few weeks, I’ve made the mental jump from random-belly-inhabitant to holy-smokes-this-is-a-real-baby. And, in doing this, I think I’ve lost my mind a little bit.

I’m not really sure how this happened. It could be that he’s getting much more interactive—I can actually tell his back from his elbows at this point—and his movements are stronger and seem much more deliberate—I swear that sometime he kicks me just to get my attention and get a back (head? tummy?) rub. It could be that I’ve finally had enough time to (mostly) get past the fear and start getting really excited to have a baby of my own. Or it could be meeting the Herget’s little boy and getting a tangible example of how cute and new and tiny our little boy will be. Probably it’s all of the above.

All I know for sure is that I have fallen head-over-heels in love with this kid.

Which is kind of crazy when I step back and think about it. I mean, I don’t even know this kid, other than the guesses I make about his personality based on the timing and frequency of his movements. He’s a total unknown to me, yet I’m still convinced he’s completely adorable.

I’m always saying to Ryan, “Look how cute our baby is,” and making him look at the random contortions of my belly. I’m not sure what exactly is “cute” about these contortions, but I am 100% sure that the baby is being adorable while making them. I’ve never even laid eyes on this kid to verify that there’s anything cute about him, but at this point he could probably come out looking like a mountain troll and he would probably be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

Furthermore, I find myself being fiercely protective of this kid. For the last several months, Ryan has had to be a very patient driver, living with me jumping and gasping at his every left turn because every car on the road is actively trying to attack my baby. I know it’s not rational, but I can’t convince my brain otherwise. Ryan calls it my “mama bear” response and has developed a pretty entertaining (but maybe you have to be there) reenactment of this phenomenon. It’s strangely apt, though, since I think I’m starting to understand why a mama bear would be so dangerous when her cubs were threatened.

And if this is how I feel for a jumble of knees and elbows I haven’t even met yet, I simply cannot imagine what it’ll feel like when I actually get to hold him in my arms.

I can’t wait.

Okay, I know that technically my single years ended three years ago. However, the simple fact remains that Ryan and I are single and will be until this baby comes. Here’s how it works:

For some reason, it’s been this way ever since Ryan and I got married. At first he used to tease since apparently “normal people” think you can’t be single if you’re a couple, but it’s become a standard part of the McDaniel family lexicon. I can’t tell you how many of our trips and adventures have started with the conversation, “You know, while we’re still single we really should . . .”

These “we are single” years have been the sweetest, most happy years of my life. While I am definitely excited to meet this baby, it’s also a little bittersweet to say goodbye to this phase.

This past Saturday marked the first time in months where we had an empty Saturday, and from the looks of things, it’ll be our last empty Saturday until this baby comes. (I know, I know, we overschedule.) When we realized the significance of this, I turned to Ryan and said, “You know, we really should give this phase a proper send off.”

And we did.

After sleeping in (as much as I can these days), Ryan took me swimming at the Kearns Aquatic Center. They had lap lanes, a regular pool, comfy lounge chairs, and a water playground with slides and sprayers—we had a blast. While it was clear that the baby didn’t enjoy swimming—he kept moving higher and higher in my belly until he was fully submerged under the lukewarm water—I absolutely loved getting a temporary break from managing the weight of my belly. Even better, I got to be outside in the full summer heat without being miserable. The afternoon was full of great little moments—eating churros in the sun, Ryan joining the little kids under the splash bucket, and, my favorite, the little girl who came up to me and said, “Aww, cute! There’s a baby in there, huh?” (Way to go, little five-year-old, at being more awesome than a slew of grownups.)

I wish I could go swimming every day.

After swimming, Ryan came home and took a nap while I primped for our fancy dinner. Between the morning sickness and the yardwork and the cleaning and the editing, we really haven’t had many opportunities to be fancy this year, so I totally made the most of it. I wore a new maternity dress and fancy earrings—I even got to curl my hair. Then we drove up to Park City for dinner at Grappa’s (we had a gift card). As we were slowly walking up Main Street, an arts festival guy in a golf cart pulled over and offered to drive us up the hill. Score! No hills for me! When we got to the restaurant, they sat us at a lovely spot on the patio near a fountain and outdoor heaters to counteract the breeze. We also, somehow, got the only table with padded chairs outside. Double score! The food was fantastic and it was so pleasant to be outside with Ryan as the sun set and the stars came out.

When we got home, I wasn’t ready for the night to end, so I talked Ryan into snuggling and watching Pride and Prejudice with me. I don’t make him sit through chick flicks very often, so he was a really good sport about it and joined me in fawning over classic British literature.

It really was the perfect day.

One of my bosses at the editing service decided to take vacation for most of July, and she asked me if I’d fill in during her absence. Um, trying my hand as a managing editor? Absolutely! I’m about 3 weeks in and have really enjoyed it—while I’ve been doing a lot more editing than normal, the projects have been interesting and I’ve been able to take some time away from my day job so that I can better focus on my editing.

I follow a pretty consistent process every time I need to get in the editing zone. Basically, the name of the game is eliminating distractions. Nearly every time I edit, without fail, I send Ryan into another room, use about 500 pillows to ensure adequate back support, get a glass of water and a few munchies, close Facebook, gather all my stylesheets and books within arms reach, and turn Pandora to a piano music station to eliminate background noise. With all of these preparations in place, it only takes a few minutes until I’m a well-oiled editing machine.

At least, that’s how things happened until this baby came along. He’s not even born yet, and he’s messing with my groove.

It turns out that this little boy loves him some classical music. As soon as Pandora comes on, he starts wiggling and rolling all over the place. It’s heartwarmingly adorable. It’s also incredibly distracting. How can I focus on editing when my baby boy is being so much fun?

See for yourself:
(I put the video after the break so that those of you who are weirded out by big, bare pregnant bellies don’t have to watch if you don’t want to. In a way, I can kind of understand—Mrs. Weasley always says, “Never trust something that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.” Still, watching this baby dance really is one of the most amazing things I’ve ever personally witnessed. But, then again, I’m extremely biased.)
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So this is me a little over a week ago.

At the moment, I’m feeling pretty good about myself. As far as physical measurements go, so far I’m about as textbook as it gets—30 centimeters at 30 weeks, healthy weight gain, etc. Things are pretty good. (I mean, don’t get me wrong, seeing Pregnant Jenn in the mirror is still a huge adjustment for me. I am blown away by the size of my belly every. single. time. I miss my waist. And my belly button.) But still, all in all, I’m pretty happy with how I look.

Really, the only time I’m particularly self-conscious is when I’m at work.

While the women in my office have all been incredibly excited and supportive, the men…well, they mean well. I’m not sure what it is about this pregnancy, but it really brings out some really awkward comments. There’s no rhyme or reason to the perpetrators—young or old, with kids or without, it doesn’t matter. I know they have good intentions, so most of these comments have struck me as really funny. However, I’m also 100% positive that if their wives overheard some of their comments, these men would get a swift punch in the arm.

Therefore, I present a quick tutorial in how to talk to a pregnant woman:

Rule #1: No matter how tempting it may seem, DO NOT place excessive emphasis on the size of a pregnant woman’s belly. Consider the following variations:

• The basic: “Jenn! You’re huge!”
• The observation: “That is one big belly.”
• The multiples: “Woah, how many are in there? Two? Three?”
• The time warp: “So next week’s the due date, right?”
• The pointer: While fully extending his arm, pointing at my belly from across the office and saying loudly, “Wow!!! Huge!!”
• The gawker: “I’m sorry, Jenn, but I cannot stop staring at your stomach. It’s enormous.”
• The creative: “Jenn! We match!” while enthusiastically patting his own (rather large) beer belly.
• The awkward: “For a while there I couldn’t tell if you were pregnant or if you’d just let yourself go. Now it looks like congratulations are in order.”

» Tip: When discussing physical appearance with a pregnant woman, say things that are similar to what you’d say to a non-pregnant woman. If in doubt, “You look great!” is always a good one to fall back on.

Rule #2: If you inquire regarding the baby’s name, DO NOT under any circumstances say anything negative about any of the names the pregnant woman mentions—even if she plans on naming her baby Rastus Mortimer Minkus the Third. Comments like the following are strongly discouraged:

• “Oh….” <Awkward silence> ”You know what name I really like? ___________.”
• “Really?” <Nose wrinkles> “What you really should name your baby is ___________.”
• “Boo!!!” <Enthusiastic double thumbs down>

» Tip: If you’re not sure how to respond to the chosen name, “That sounds great with your last name!” is a great place to start. If humor’s more your style, you’re pretty much always safe teasing that she should consider your own name.

Rule #3: Please DO NOT draw excess attention to how much a pregnant woman eats. (Believe me, eating takes on a whole new level of importance when pregnant.) Avoid saying things like the following:

• “Wow, Jenn! Eating again?”
• “You know, everytime I see you Jenn, you’re eating something new!”
• “What’s on the buffet for today?”

» Tip: As in Rule 1, if you shouldn’t say it to a non-pregnant woman, you probably shouldn’t say it to a pregnant woman. If you feel absolutely compelled to make an eating-related comment, stick with the simple observation, “That looks tasty.” If you’re lucky, she may share with you.

I’m sure there’s about a zillion other rules, but these are the ones I know from real experience. (And, yes, every single example in this post is pulled from actual comments I’ve received. For reals.)

Also? Today marks exactly two months left until the due date. It’s a little daunting.

As a slightly-crazed devoted reader of baby books and baby websites, I get around 5 different week-by-week updates on how the baby’s doing. (What? This is normal.)  While each may say about the same thing, they all have a few different details in them about what’s happening to the baby. I’d take the most pertinent bits and forward them on to Ryan. (Because there’s definitely no way he’d read all that information on his own.)

In the beginning of the pregnancy, one of our favorite things to see was the comparison of how big the baby was—”This week we have a little sesame seed! Now it’s a baby grape! This week the baby is as big as a lemon!”

However, the bigger the baby’s gotten, the more ridiculous the comparisons have been. “This week your baby is the size of a kumquat! This week your baby is the size of a rutabaga!”

Seriously, who knows off-hand how big a rutabaga is?

Eventually the comparisons got a little too ridiculous for Ryan—I think he finally had enough after 21 weeks:

At 21 Weeks, the baby is apparently the size of 5 tangerines.

Ryan was like, “Seriously? Five tangerines is the best they can do? Is there nothing else they could find? I could probably find 10 things that are the right size.” Soon after, he sent me this:

This week your baby is the size of one hula girl figurine, one bottle of hand sanitizer, one paper weight, and two highlighters!

Since that week, I’ve been getting frequent updates about our baby—all gleaned from common office items on his desk. Suffice it to say, they’re definitely more amusing than the produce aisle.

Last night Ryan and I were laying in bed, chatting about the day, when suddenly, I get this teasing poke in my side that made me jump about a mile.

(For the record, my family’s favorite way to tease me is to poke me in the side. I hate it. Absolutely loathe it.)

Me: “What did you do that for? That was so mean.”

Ryan: “What are you talking about?”

Me: “You poked me in the side.”

Ryan: “Um, Jenn, you’re holding both my hands.”

And I was.

If I hadn’t been, there is absolutely no way I would have believed that Ryan didn’t do it, that jab was so deliberately and specifically placed to startle me.

I really hope this isn’t a sign of the teasings to come.