The Belly Dance

You know what? My giant belly is really starting to come in handy.

It makes a great catcher for stains that would have normally ended up on my lap. It's a lovely conversation piece (now that people aren't afraid to acknowledge it as a pregnancy and not just an unfortunate over-indulgence of ice cream sundaes). It evokes smiles, nods, and--if I'm shlepping my children through a steamy parking lot and they're whining in harmony--looks of sympathy.

Most of all though, it gets me out of a lot of things I would normally have no excuse for. Now when I botch my parking job in the garage, leaving Jeff enough room to exit his car only if he possess the superhero ability to turn himself into a vapor, I just blame it on my belly. As in, I can't possible squeeze out of my own car if the door is too close to the wall. Sorry, honey.

Or like yesterday, when I brought the kids to the infamous Burger King play place so I could kill some time before Rollie's soccer practice and so they could pick up some cool diseases (hey, with flu season over, I really miss my pediatrician).