When I pull the skin tighter around my belly button, it kind of puckers and forms a little mound thing.

But it hasn't popped out yet! Seriously, the one thing I was actually looking forward to about being pregnant, and no such luck. I'm 34 1/2 weeks, and I still have an inny belly button. I feel so cheated.

I do have really crazy stretch marks, though. Seriously, my belly looks like an eyeball: pasty white, with a bunch of ugly red streaks coming out from the middle (so my inny belly button is the iris?). At my last doctor's appointment, when I pulled my shirt up so he could measure me, he was like "whoa, do these itch a lot?" I said "um, yeah, like crazy." And he was like, "whoa, I'm glad you haven't made yourself bleed! Get some 1% hydrocortisone on that business!" (Note: this may or may not be a direct quotation of our conversation. You can decide.)

Mike's doing Organic Chemistry homework. Which means I'm really bored. I do have to finish my paper for Pearl of Great Price, but I don't get a thrill from writing religion papers like I do writing other kinds of papers. Maybe this is a good thing, but religion papers are just way too easy. When I'm writing about Hansberry and the Black Arts Movement of the '60's, I feel like I'm trying to fit my brain through that strainer mold thing my mom has for playdough, but in a good way. When I'm writing about Enoch, it just feels kind of like, well, like "duh." I know this stuff. Please don't think I'm being sacrilegious. I just don't have to work really hard to know what to say about spiritual stuff.

And maybe I don't care about my grades nearly as much as when I was still looking at more school. I'm a little bit done. Even if I kept my grades up (which I probably will anyways, Dad, so don't freak out) I'm only taking three credits (one class) next semester, which means they wouldn't give me my scholarship anyway. Therefore, I will do the work without stressing myself into labor, and my professors will probably never see me again. Sound fair? I think so.

I have a friend who is twenty-something weeks pregnant with twin boys, and whose experience seems to be extremely compounded compared to mine. Every time I want to whine about how hard it is to waddle about campus and not be able to put on my own boots and have heartburn all the time, I go read Becky's blog. It makes me grateful that I'm having one little Katie and not two little boys.

Not that there's anything wrong with boys. It's just that two of them at once would probably kill me. (Do you hear that, Grandma Blair? You're superwoman.)

I should probably actually work on my paper a little bit, since I suspect that's what Mike thinks I'm already doing. He'll discover this blog post tomorrow and be like "Brittany! You were supposed to be doing homework!" And I'll either bat my eyelashes at him or stick out both my preggo belly and my lower lip. Either works.

Oh, and his making-aspirin lab write-up is done, so I gotta go. Peace out.