Or both, I suppose. Can't start teaching the importance of safety too soon, eh?
I'm showing a lot more than I expected to at this point, although I'm sure as the months go on, Darrick and I will look back at this and laugh, because I will be gigantenormohuge, and this will look like minor bloating in comparison. At the rate I'm going, by the end of the second trimester, I should be able to set my tummy with four place settings for dinner. I'll have to drive from the backseat. By the end of the third, foliage will wither and die in my shadow. I may need to incorporate my belly as a city. Nations will ask me to stop blocking the view of their satellites (or will attempt to hire me for the same reason).
I'll suddenly be stricken with an obviously uncharacteristic tendency to exaggerate and a compulsive need to tell bad belly jokes. Did you hear the one about my belly, the priest, and the rabbi on a deserted island . . . ?