Friday, February 18, 2011

I heard the more swollen your feet are, the cuter your baby is.

(This is the photo we sent to my brother-in-law, Michael (Elder Bradford), when we announced the gender of our baby girl. That's definitely a tutu around William's head. And of course that tutu was from Grandma Marilyn.)

I've come to the point of the pregnancy where I actually envy people who can move around quickly. I want to cry every time I'm out on recess duty watching 150 energetic 5th graders. I'm making plans to become an avid jogger after the baby comes. (Whether or not these plans are actually carried out is none of your business.)

I've also come to the point of the pregnancy where none (and I really mean NONE) of my shoes fit me. I live in flip flops. My students have noticed my lack of professionalism: "What happened to your feet?" "Why are they so red?" "I've never seen you in flip flops, Mrs. Bradford. They look like they're doing damage to your feet." (Yes, actual quotes)

But with only 3 more weeks to go (and a list of 150 things to do before then), I'm becoming more anxious to meet the baby girl that's slowing me down and swelling my feet.

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