So that's how they get out of there...

I wrote a post a while back about conversations I've had with my children about the somewhat delicate topic of baby-making and baby-birthing.  And how I am apt to change the subject when one of my inquisitive angels wants too many details.  Anyway, I'm pretty sure we've come up with a new theory about how Mama is going to get this baby out of her stomach.  

But pardon my digression for a moment, as here I have to stop to make a confession... 

I have stretch marks!  

Big, pink, glaring stretch marks.  I've had them since I was pregnant with my first eight years ago.  I probably have more now, I just can't see anything south of my navel so I can't completely verify that.  They stretch all the way from one hip to another, tattooing my abdomen with blazing pride... shouting to the world, "I carried a 10-pound baby for the better part of a year!"

They don't go away, either.  They only hibernate, turning a funny shade of silver as my stomach shrinks back to it's deflated shape.   And I use the word deflated kindly.  Because it hasn't fully deflated since giving birth to my first.  It reminds me of what it's like to blow up a balloon and then suddenly let all the air out of it.  You don't get your original balloon shape back, do you?  Nope... you get my stomach! 

So, here's what we're dealing with.  This is my 31-week belly photo. Please be kind, I'm running out of clothes that flatter and/or fit.  By this time next month I'm pretty sure that I'll be wearing my bathrobe to work.  So, at 31 weeks, that means I still have 9 more weeks (give or take) for this stomach to continue to stretch...  and stretch... and stretch..

Which leads me to the point of my post. 

How this baby is getting the heck out of here...

See, I have this problem of late.  My shirts ride up.  I can't help it.  I pull them down to cover my waist when I get dressed in the morning and by mid-day they seem to have shrunk considerably, exposing my patterned abdomen and my belly button (which has officially become an outie again... a sure sign that this baby is almost fully cooked).

So, I'm lying on my back on my bed next to my daughter the other day.  My shirt has ridden up to somewhere just below my bra.  And my little girl sits up and exclaims in fascination and horror, "Mama! Your stomach is cracking open!"

I had to reassure her that it was not.  

But it did lead to a rather funny, somewhat poignant, image and subsequent conversation about how my babies are NOT born.  

Come to think of it, maybe I should have stuck to the theory that she hatched...

It's easier on the imagination!