Mama Bean has a question for the jury

So there I stood, in all my 35-weeks-pregnant glory, belly free and fabulous, and Papa Bean says, "Oh, I just saw the baby kick." Which was un-possible, because, being the vessel containing said baby, I would know in a very real and tangible way if there was a kick, and there was no kick, so I gave him a Look. Y'know, the what-are-you-talking-about-crazy-person-I-inexplicably-tethered-myself-to-for-life-Look. And he said, "I saw it kick, right here-" reaching out to touch the underside of my belly and stopping short. "Oh."

"Oh," I said, "Oh. Yeah. I'm just jiggly. There."

Now, I don't know if this happens to all pregnant women. I'm fairly certain it doesn't happen to skinny women. But for the average to fluffier-than-average women out there, maybe this is common, maybe not. For fluffy little me, this happens: my giant pregnant uterus pushes my fluff downwards. So my belly is all smooth and hard at the top and sides, and then there's this jiggly pouch-or-something underneath. I don't know how else to explain it. I'm sorry if you didn't really come here to read about my jiggly pregnant bits today. I can't even blame it on a TMI Tuesday :(

So, I remind Papa Bean that's just what happens. And he says he thinks it's a little different this time, more spread out (he gestures, so I would be clear of his precise meaning in how spread out my jiggly under-tummy is, helpful man) compared to last time, when it was more centralized (he gestures again, demonstrating a more compact arrangement.) And then he grins sort of sheepishly and says, "Last time, I called it your chubs icicle."

Chubs. Icicle. As in, a hanging pendulum of chubsness. Used to describe a part of my beautiful, glorious, wonderful, fruitful pregnant self.

So, I ask you, dear readers:

Grounds for divorce?

;)