Today must be my lucky day.
One, we are one of two finalists in our "new business" pitch from Monday (I'm feeling quite invincible); two, I got an amazing hand massage from my husband on the train on the morning commute; and three, I was just ID:ed for buying spray paint. Apparently there is a question around whether I look 18 or older. I'll take that any day. I guess she didn't see my preggo belly (or maybe she thought I would be a teen mother tagging buildings in heirloom white spray paint).
Anyway, I'm all set to kick off the weekend with a bag full of spray paint (yes, I really am of legal age), a cup of guilt free skim milk hot chocolate on my desk and just a few minutes left of craziness for this week.
And just for fun, here is the belly for today—22 weeks on the dot. I used to think my boobs were really huge and sticking out, but now compared to my somewhat paunchy belly, I look flat chested. I can't win. Only 18 more weeks to go. Whoo hoo!
Tomorrow— get the stupid washer fixed, one-hour massage, and start paining baby furniture.
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