Dear You

That's right, you.  The mini-me in my stomach.  Whether you're Afton or He-Who-Has-Not-Yet-Been-Named, you'd best calm the heck down before we enroll you in MMA while still in the delivery room.  If this is actually you. If not, then apologies.
Speaking of the Little inside me, here's a picture. Or two.

Finally, right? I know, white background+white shirt=bad bad bad! Next time they'll be better. Promise.
Thanks so much to Natalie for being so willing to take the pictures. I know they're not fabulous and I still mostly look big, but I can testify: there are definitely curling up on the couch positions that are no longer possible/generally uncomfortable/dissatisfying. Growth is happening and it's not me.

In other news: The Sing-Off. WHY have I never watched this before!?! I mean, Holy Cows on High! I was really nervous about the Aires, I mean, a medley of three Queen songs (the most untouchable band in the world, PS), and they picked the 3 most famous Queen songs and I was like "eh, that's mostly for audience appeal. They're gonna do well just because everyone loves those songs." Boy was I wrong. Honestly, I watched Glee for a few seasons because it was all about show choir. This IS show choir sans scripted drama! And a cappella to boot! What's not to love?

Confession: I listened to Christmas music yesterday. Nothing in my other lists was speaking to me, so I peeked at my Christmas list and "White Christmas" whispered seductively, 'listen to me. You know you want to...' And I did. I wanted to, and I did. MercyMe and Ella Fitzgerald wrapped it up for me, though, and I went back to my favorite list.
My moment of weakness is over.
Next time: Why the treat of "Santa is watching" is WAY more effective than "Jesus is watching."