Unfortunately, between the stretch marks on my hips, the belly HAIR (It's ok, you can gag), and the stretched out laparoscopy scar below my belly button, that is not the case now. And the only reason my pants won't stay on is because maternity pants are designed for the quick exit when you need to get to the bathroom in a hurry and I refuse to go with an over-the-belly style (hello? It was so hot yesterday I had to baste Charlie like a turkey when we went to the pool to keep him from spontaneously combusting).
My only consolation is that I haven't gained nearly the amount of weight that I had gained by this point with Charlie, so at least when I pull a knocked-up Brittany impression after reaching for something on a high shelf at the grocery store, unless you are standing close by you probably wouldn't be too
With Charlie my OB routinely put down her pen and stared in gape mouthed horror as I lumbered by on my way to the exam room. Once she even asked Ryan if I was "eating like really out of control or anything." He said no, but looking back he might have been a little afraid of me since from all appearances I outweighed him by five times. And one appointment she remarked "Well, for fundal length I'll write down 32 cm even though it should me more like 34.5." At 31 weeks (fundal length in centimeters should roughly correspond to the number of weeks).
And then I had an 8 lb 10 oz baby so there ya go.
Bravo does not seem to be so large so far. And now I have a personal trainer who won't let me snack and insists I carry him up and down the stairs over and over again. And who consumes my entire cookie budget with his constant demands for milk and yogurt and berries.
There is still PLENTY of time to turn into something out of National Geographic, I realize. I won't be getting rid of my supply of giant pants just yet (are you kidding? Those things are COMFY...if a little inappropriate for trips out of the house).
But at least for a few weeks I don't have to deal with the "OH MY GOSH YOU ARE GOING TO POP ARE YOU SURE IT'S NOT TWINS?" comments and the old ladies crossing themselves as I pass on the street.