Belly.

Update: My go-to I don't want to put on pants pants, the one time crown and glory of my comfy wardrobe, the pants that feel and stretch like pajamas but are just wide-legged and tailored enough to wear in public, officially no longer I fit. I wore them to work last night and realized the second I walked out the door (and I was already late, so no turning back) that I could barely breathe. I spent the rest of work pulling them down and then up, trying to find a point on my middle they could hit without feeling like death.

I still don't think I look pregnant, just like I've eaten one too many Twinkies. Or, since I hate Twinkies, Ramen noodles, because I went on a Ramen noodle rampage yesterday. I won't tell you how many packages I consumed in that 24 hours, but trust me, you should be impressed. My boss did catch me getting out of my chair last night, and for some reason I stood up like all the pregnant women do in the movies, stomach-first, with my hand grasping my back (that damn perineal pain during pregnancy thing is not a joke), and for the first time I saw that awww how adorable, you're pregnant! look aimed toward me.

I need new pants.