Excuses. 13 Weeks of Them.

My faithful readers - all three of you - may have noticed my absence around these here parts. Admittedly, it's been a lengthy one, about the length of a . . . trimester.

Darlings, I find myself needing to violate the very State of the Uterus address we set forth here & announce that my absence has been due to my, um, well - my uterus being occupied. I'm in the family way. Bun in the oven and such. Pregnant, 13 weeks so.

Not only has this happy condition caused me to, you know, spend a lot of time contemplating my Uterus State, my body has basically demanded that I rest and relax versus blog over the past few months. And by "rest and relax", I of course mean "eat everything that isn't mobile, or at least not fast enough that I can't catch it."

A warning to my happily child-free friends - as much as I'll endeavor to avoid such scintillating topics as fundal height or prenatal preschool applications, things could be a little (a lot) progesterone soaked around here for the forseeable future. Although I pledge to try and deviate from all things gestation, I also can't quite focus on my usual Pretty style concerns yet. *Not* that I'm any less vain - let's not be ridiculous. Rather, I just can't get excited about that in which I can increasingly no longer fit.

(If you turn your monitor sideways, squint, and chant "HORMONES!" three times, you can kinda sorta make something out there. I'm certain this has nothing to do with the peppermint ice cream I've been hoovering.)

On the bright side, you know what this whole pregnancy thing means, don't you? SMUG MOTHERHOOD!

(Dear Pregnancy Gods: Psych! Just kidding about that Smug Motherhood bit! Please do not smite me with any other delightful pregnancy symptoms. For serious. Well, except for the, uh, enhanced chestal bits, for which the AH thanks you profusely and rather annoyingly. xoxo)