27 weeks. Quite belatedly so.

I know I say it every week, but, once again, I wasn't thrilled with the snaps from this week. Particularly as I worked a full, busy day on Saturday and thought I looked darn good throughout, only to come home and have the self-esteem somewhat deflated.

Perhaps the least heinous, despite the red eye and rather blank expression:

Though I have a weak spot for this one, as it shows me living on the edge (i.e., perching precariously on a piece of two-feet-high furniture while wearing heeled boots, in front of a large glass window, and pregnant):

(And in defense of the belly button, it isn't popping out [yet]--that's just the sweater bunching up, I swear.)

This is about as fearless as I get lately (or ever). And now I can't even stand on furnishings in front of big windows (and neither can the poor baby kitties), as we put up the Christmas tree this weekend; though it's not quite finished in this one, the digital camera's had a mostly-dead battery since Saturday, and no one has bothered to charge it. So this is all we've got so far:

Literati

Here are the many and varied books on birth and pregnancy that I currently own or have checked out from my local library (the bottom one is a PostSecret compilation that I need to return, so that doesn't count):

Sometimes, it feels a bit like an obsession...I've checked out loads of books; some I've read every word, but most I've only skimmed, if that. Some are fascinating and/or informative; some apparently are written for dodos. And Rob has put a moratorium on any other preg/baby books entering the abode until I've cleaned out the site of the future nursery, in hopes that I'll finish it up, as all of his other threatening and cajoling have failed.

In other news, Panzie continues her noble and exhaustive efforts to assist in cleaning. Alas, she too easily becomes distracted by the old magazines and newspapers that her mother has unearthed, hitherto saved for some obscure, forgotten reason, and now bound for the recycling bin.

Nothing funnier than a cat in a bag...

26 weeks.

It's me! And I didn't cry over these photos, though when I demanded he snap them, Robbie asked if I would (as I felt like doing last week).

And now for more of the belly (and just a smidge of the household mess)...

...and then more of the face (though the belly is quite noticeable still, what with the globs of Tofurky gravy and all)...

And, just to prove I'm not a complete sloth, here I am slaving over a hot stove (uh, reheating prepared food).

Though Rob claims I'm lazy, who had time to snap pics? That's what I thought.