Is there anything more awkward than pictures taken by yourself, of yourself?
It’s the ultimate in narcissism, and I struggle with it mightily.
Every week as I prepare to take my weekly pregnancy shot, every single week, I feel like a complete and mighty TOOL putting on that same dress and taping up the little weekly numbers and taking a bunch of pictures and hoping that in one or two at least, I come out looking not smug or ridiculous, not like a giant blob, that my dress isn’t doing weird things, that my hair isn’t lying limply around my head like it usually does.
It’s probably the least favorite part of my Tuesdays.
But then when I look back at the photos I really am glad that I’ve taken the time to document my swelling proportions. I look at the 12 week photo and think, “Was I seriously that small?” and I look at the week 14 photo and remember how I puked right before I took it. And I look at the week 18 photo and remember how we had just seen the baby the day before.
So tomorrow I’ll persevere and feel like a tool for 20 minutes (possibly more because how do you set the focus for a camera so it focuses on you, when you are busy behind the camera figuring out how the timer works? I did a test shot today and while I look mighty blurry, the ficus in the foreground is CRISP!)
In the meantime here are some awkward selfies that I did this morning to make myself feel better for the fact that it took me 25 minutes to find something to wear today andthis, this tee-shirt layered over a maxi dress was the best I could do.
Everything I wear looks absolutely indecent. I am a small-chested lady, always have been, and these things are just getting bigger and bigger and they’re still tiny by normal people standards but by my standards HOLY SHIT suddenly I’m Pamela Anderson.
Of course I refuse to buy a bigger bra (because I’m cheap but also because I’ve learned my lesson and am heeding the advice of other pregnant ladies who have warned me that it’s pointless to buy a new bra now because I will need an even BIGGER one once I start nursing, to which I say “Wnfhugzmkdmfnzxhjfhuaj GFJGFUGFHJ!?)
As a result, all my business is just all smushed and lifted and pushed up and…cleavagy.
I don’t “do” cleavage. I do rib bones and flat expanses of skin. These days I look down and it’s all very strange. Right now I’m just trying to camouflage the situation. So. Enjoy the pseudo-muumuu.